


The Undiscovered Country

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Character Death, Season/Series 02-03 Hiatus, Slow Build, Some ChillyWilly if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Brian doesn't need to put up posters, Jimmy still shows up five days a week. But this… whatever they had - partnership? friendship? perfect symbiotic working relationship? - is gone. "</p><p>Things have changed for Jimmy and Brian since that tragic night in May. Or maybe it all really changed in March, when something was needed to fill the part of themselves that they lost. Or maybe the seeds were planted years ago, the moment they met. It doesn't much matter when they were planted, in the end. This is the year when they finally sprout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this fic in my head for eight months, and "on paper" for two. It's very likely going to be "Jossed" the second Season 3 comes out, but I hope you'll enjoy it for what it is no matter when you're reading it.
> 
> I can't send this fic out into the world without acknowledging the efforts of my beta and friend, the guy who is going to give me a massive ego about my writing with all the damn flattery he gives me about it, [jimmypricelabguru](https://twitter.com/JPLabGuru). Thank you for putting up with all my shrieking and writer tears and general nonsense, and for agreeing to beta a fic this ridiculously large. You're the best!
> 
> Finally, thank you to the Hannibal fandom, especially my wonderful fellow Preller shippers! Most days, it's a joy to be a part of this fandom, and I can't wait to shriek and cry and squee with you all when Season 3 finally returns!

 

 

 

Brian has been listening to the clock on the wall tick for fifteen minutes. He knows this because he’s counted every single second; every tick a little sharp sting to his brain. Another second gone and he’s still stuck here, staring at himself in a one-way mirror. He knows, he just knows that Prurnell is behind, staring at him with her beady little eyes, pondering just when he’s had enough to crack.

_Six weeks_ , Brian thinks. He expected to be here in this room, in this cold metal chair, hands on the cold metal table, staring at himself in a one-way mirror six weeks ago. And every second that passes is just another second farther away from the day six weeks ago that he should’ve been called in here to speak. It makes him furious. He’s learned over the years tricks to keeping his temper hidden. Breathing exercises, distraction, thinking happy thoughts. But it’s not enough this time. Not after what’s happened.

Fifteen minutes ago - no, wait, before that, because he’d needed to file some of the endless paperwork he was doing these days before he could come talk. So, half an hour ago, Prurnell had passed him in the hall. Didn’t even stop to look at him, like he wasn’t a person important enough to command her attention. _“You’re needed in interrogation.”_ She moved so fast, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. One thing he’s learned over the past two months is that she doesn’t repeat herself. If you don’t catch it the first time, you’d better pray someone else was in the room to fill you in. And lately, there hasn’t been anyone in the room to catch him up.

Usually when he goes to interrogation, he enters through the side door that leads to the room behind the glass. He’s not there very often. The real world isn’t like CSI; coroners don’t interrogate suspects. But sometimes he sits in he needs to be there to corroborate any details that a suspect lets slip about the state of the body: what sort of weapons were used, the position of wounds, time of death, etc.

This time, however, he’s directed to go in through the main door and have a seat at the table, _someone will be with you shortly._ If he didn’t know what this was about, he’d think that maybe someone had finally broken into the VPN on his home internet and was about to sue him for torrenting three dozen episodes of old school _Doctor Who_ and one Taylor Swift album when he was really, _really_ drunk.. But he doubts Prurnell gives enough of a shit about his personal life to go hacking his IP address. No, he knows exactly what this is about.

He’s so tempted to make a remark about someone getting their rocks off behind that glass while watching him, and does he need to take his shirt off? Will it help objectify him more? Since he feels like a specimen being studied anyway. If Jimmy were here, he’d be making this at least a bit more bearable, cracking jokes and making faces at the mirror. But he’s not here. Lately that’s become par for the course in Brian’s life.

Finally, _finally_ , Brian hears footsteps outside the door, and it opens. An unfamiliar man with a forgettable face comes into the room and sits down across from him. The man’s demeanor screams ‘Stuffed Suit who follows the rules of interrogation in the FBI handbook to a T.’ Friendly, calm, understanding, emotionally disconnected. It’s infuriating. This isn’t a calm, emotionless subject. For fuck’s sake, people died! Well, one person. Another might as well have, from the way he looked when Brian next saw him.

_Six damn weeks._ That’s the only thing he can think about the whole time. “When we were called to the crime scene ( _six damn weeks_ ) it was about eight-thirty in the evening. I got the call from Agent Menendez (six. damn. weeks) and as soon as I heard her voice on the phone, I knew something had happened, since the only thing scheduled for that evening had been terminated. I called Agent Price and ( _six weeks six weeks six weeks_ ) picked him up from his house. We drove over to the BAU and took the CSI van ( _SIX WEEKS_ ) over to the scene. The three surviving victims had already been taken to the ER. We were tasked with setting up a perimeter as ( _how could you wait SIX DAMN WEEKS TO ASK ME THIS SHIT_ ) there were bystanders and news crews converging on the area.”

He tries to stay calm, and not give the other agent an earful he doesn’t deserve. This guy is just a lackey sent to tie up loose ends. The investigation into the crime scene at Dr. Lecter’s house ended at least two weeks ago. Not that Brian got to be a part of it. As soon as they’d set up the perimeter, Prurnell zoomed up to the scene, screeching at them to stand down, “too close to the case, who called you to come here?!” Brian wanted to put his fist through her face, but Jimmy grabbed him by the shoulder and shook his head, and Brian stood down.

That was the last time Jimmy touched him... Okay, that sounds _really_ creepy in his head. He needs to figure out a better way to phrase that… but the only reason Brian knows is because he’s so used to the general day-to-day contact. The pat on the shoulder, the nudging of hips, the flick on the forehead when he’s being a smart-ass. Brian wouldn’t miss the touches as much if the person who gave them wasn’t also missing.

Brian doesn’t need to put up posters, Jimmy still shows up five days a week. But this… whatever they had - partnership? friendship? perfect symbiotic working relationship? - is gone. At first, Brian thought it was all the paperwork. Mounds of it to keep them busy. The whole BAU was investigating the Lecter case, except for them. Brian huffed and puffed, but Prurnell’s will was made of brick, and he couldn’t knock it down.

They got put on desk duty, sorting old case files, looking through cold ones to see if they could come up with anything new. This meant they were both holed up in their separate offices. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue. They’ve gone weeks before without any new cases, and somehow managed to find time to spend together. Jimmy would pull him out of the building at noon to go get lunch, or come down the hall with a case file as an excuse to say hi. You can’t go too long without seeing each other at work when you’re friends. Both because it’s the nature of the job, and because otherwise who do you have to talk to and socialize with? The _interns_? Fuck no.

So normally, no issue. Except Jimmy never came to his office to say hi anymore. He never stopped by to ask if Brian wanted coffee, or to relay the latest office gossip, or to see if he just wanted to go up to the roof for fifteen minutes to get some air. And every time Brian stopped by Jimmy’s office, he either wasn’t in, or claimed he was so buried in paperwork that he couldn’t even take the time to talk (Brian missed the talking so much. It made things feel _normal_ ). He made excuses any time Brian asked if he wanted to grab dinner. Any texts sent were returned with short, clipped replies, or nothing at all. Brian couldn’t even seem to corner Jimmy for five minutes to ask why the hell he was being ignored.

After about a month of this, Brian just gave up trying. Jimmy obviously had his reasons for isolating himself, and he was so damn stubborn when he got an idea in his head. God knows Brian has had to talk him out of stupider things than giving someone the cold shoulder. Jimmy will resume communication when he’s ready, probably pretending that this trial separation never existed. It’s fine.

Except…

Except it’s not. It’s not alright when your life gets turned upside down in the course of six months, and the only person left you can talk to decides to go mute.

They had each other when Beverly was murdered, thank god for that. Lots of late nights with alcohol, watching each other to make sure the other one didn’t die from alcohol poisoning. Thank fuck they never cared about crying in front of each other. Brian remembers having to pick Jimmy up off the floor one particularly bad night and half-carry him to bed. Sobbing, unable to put together sentences, Jimmy looked so broken and lost, all his fifty-five years etched in harsh lines on his face. Brian was terrified that night, so afraid that Jimmy would reach the end of his rope and try to end it all. He’d never seen the man look that defeated.

So Brian locked Jimmy’s service weapon inside his own car trunk, along with all the knives and remaining booze in the house. Then he curled up at the end of Jimmy’s bed with his head on Jimmy’s leg, so that if he tried to get out of bed, Brian would feel it. Brian slept in fits and starts, and it felt like a fever breaking when Jimmy woke up the next morning, massively hungover, but still alive. After that, they didn’t touch the booze for weeks.

This isn’t as bad as Beverly’s death. If it were, Brian would’ve beaten Jimmy’s door down already, because they already survived one devastating tragedy, and Brian isn’t going to let another one take them out.

But Jack is alive. Dr. Bloom is alive. Will Graham is alive. As much as Brian loves his boss like a father, he’s surprisingly just as happy that Graham is alright. Maybe it’s because Beverly’s death would mean nothing if the man who had sacrificed the most to take down her killer had died, too. As for Abigail Hobbs, well, he hates to sound callous, but he can only feel her death as an outsider, rubbernecking at someone else’s tragedy, emotionally removed from the event.

Still, Dr. Lecter’s attack and escape is just the latest aspect of a time in his life that’s thrown everything he knows off balance and out of perspective. Before Hannibal, before Will Graham, this was just a job that Brian just so happened to work at with his best friends. He didn’t stay up late, unable to sleep, retracing his every action, wondering if he could’ve changed anything. He didn’t hurriedly shove autopsy reports into the “K” drawer so he could avoid accidentally coming across a particular file. He drank less, certainly, and Jimmy had been controlling his own habits pretty well for several years before this.

Everything is off center. Brian feels like a ship adrift at sea most days, floating through the BAU aimlessly. He’s considered calling it quits, finding a small town somewhere no one knows him, where people only die of natural causes, and he does autopsies half a dozen times a year. But something keeps him here, something he hasn’t quite figured out yet, only he knows he can’t leave until he does.

Too many loose ends, too much unfinished work. Give him a word association test these days and the words “Hannibal Lecter” will be matched to “bloody vengeance, preferably by a bullet to the head.” It’s so impossibly frustrating, to know that people are working hard to find that man, and you can’t be part of it. Jack understood the value of adding a personal motivation to crime solving. What he lost in following protocol, he gained in having invaluable people around with perspectives no one else could understand.

Brian isn’t so haughty or competitive these days, not after the events of the past year. He finally recognizes the true value of Will Graham's contributions to their team. The man’s mind is a confusing, disturbing maze, pathways linking that don’t make sense to anyone except Will. But he’s as close to a real life psychic as there ever was one. If Prurnell had been running the BAU when the Minnesota Shrike case occurred, Graham would have been deemed too unstable of an asset. They might never have figured out who the killer was, and Garret-Jacob Hobbs might still be murdering women today.

And after all of the things he’s been through, there’s no one Brian can talk to about it. Some are dead, some are still in the hospital, some just decided he wasn’t worth it. That’s what it feels like, at least. God knows Brian has thought about therapy, but he’s not really okay with someone poking around in his brain after the last two shrinks he met turned out to be a sociopathic cannibal and the woman who fled with him. So the thoughts fester, and he drinks more, and he wonders if the world will ever balance again.

“What was that?” The forgettable suit had said something, and Brian had missed it, too lost in his own head.

“Special Agent Crawford insisted you and Special Agent Price stay on the investigation even after your colleague, Special Agent Katz, was murdered, correct?”

The suit had brought a cup of coffee for him, and Brian’s hand tightens around the styrofoam. “Agent Crawford needed a team who knew the case intimately,” Brian says. “Because of the nature of the suspect, he felt it best to keep knowledge of the case classified to only those who’d been involved so far. Considering the media circus around the Chesapeake Ripper case, expanding the investigation would’ve allowed for more cracks that information could slip through. We didn’t need Dr. Lecter’s face plastered all over Tattle Crime.”

_Hypocrite_ , screams his brain. He’s still ashamed about that, remembers staring at Freddie Lounds’ smirking face as he bent to uncuff her. The way he was bought so easily, a quick fuck worth more to him than loyalty to his own team. Beverly and Jimmy had put two and two together fairly quickly; he couldn’t hide things from them. Beverly hadn’t spoken to him for a week unless absolutely necessary. Jimmy had just given him this disappointed look, and after that Brian wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

“And yet Ms. Lounds was brought into the fold during the investigation,” says the suit. Brian is going to have to figure out his name.

“That was out of our hands. Dr. Lecter made her inclusion absolutely vital. The same with Dr. Chilton, after he recovered and went into witness protection.” Miriam Lass was still in rehabilitation after that incident. Her lawyer had pleaded the charge down because of the PSTD and trauma she was going through when she shot Dr. Chilton. They’d shipped her to a nice facility somewhere up north, the name of which Brian wasn’t privy to. Jack had only dealt out information on a need-to-know basis.

The suit adjusts his glasses and keeps taking notes. “So despite the danger Dr. Lecter was posing to both his team and non-department citizens, Special Agent Crawford failed to inform his superiors of what was going on. Did he threaten you? Tell you he’d cause you problems for your career if you went around him to report serious breaches of protocol?”

Brian almost throws the cup against the wall. _Deep breaths, Zeller_. “No one on Agent Crawford’s team was coerced.” He sits up straighter in his chair, anger focused into clarity of mind. “For the last several years, we’ve done exceptional work at this bureau under Agent Crawford’s leadership. We wouldn’t have the track record we have without Agent Graham’s assistance, and Agent Crawford’s trust in him as well as myself, Agent Price, and Agent Katz.”

“And yet under Special Agent Crawford’s supervision, Special Agent Katz lost her life.”

_Could’ve said something could’ve asked her what was wrong she didn’t trust me why didn’t she trust me…_ Throat dry, eyes burning, Brian continues. “That occurred before Agent Crawford realized Will Graham was telling the truth, and was done without his knowledge-”

The suit interrupts him. “Because Special Agent Crawford had already allowed Dr. Lecter to manipulate the evidence and frame Special Agent Graham for Abigail Hobbs’ death. Special Agent Crawford knew that Special Agent Graham was unstable and shouldn’t have been put-”

“Will Graham had encephalitis.” Now it’s Brian’s turn to interrupt. “Which neither he nor Agent Crawford knew at the time. If Jack- If Agent Crawford had known of his condition, I am absolutely certain he would’ve taken Will off of field duty.”

The suit looks down and scribbles on his pad for a while, saying nothing. Brian shifts in his chair, sips the coffee. He swallows hard. Breathes. This is what he was worried about, all these memories being dredged up after being allowed to stagnate for weeks. Memories get fuzzy the older they are. Can Brian really be sure that Jack would’ve pulled Will off the case? Had they ignored some vital clue, or been shoddy with the investigation? There’s no certainty in the questions he keeps asking himself over and over again. That doubt eats at him, keeps him up into late hours of the morning. The guilt too, over what he should’ve seen before it was too late.

“Last question, Special Agent Zeller.” The suit folds his hands, face inscrutable. “In your professional opinion, what went wrong with the investigation that lead to the events of the night of May twenty third, twenty fourteen?”

“In my professional- What went wrong was meddling from people higher up the chain who had no business derailing a critical operation at the eleventh hour!”

“Agent Zeller, please keep your-”

“Shut up.” He doesn’t care how many disciplinary hearings he’ll have to go to. He’s answering this on his own terms. “You listen to me, and write every word of this down. If Agent Prurnell had not called off the meeting with Agent Crawford and Hannibal Lecter, Abigail Hobbs would still be alive, and Dr. Lecter would be in custody. The direct actions she took in ignoring Agent Crawford’s warnings resulted in the escape of a cannibalistic serial killer, the murder of an innocent victim, and the attempted murder of two agents and a psychotherapist. And said psychotherapist, by the way, may never be able to walk again.” Brian’s words are cutting, accusatory, and he doesn’t care if this gets back to Prurnell. He’s done betraying the people who trust him.

The suit seems unfazed. He simply nods and keeps writing, then clicks off the tape recorder lying on the table. “Alright. We’re done here, Special Agent Zeller. You’re free to go.”

Brian kicks up out of the chair and opens the door, walks down the hall, down a corridor, into the nearby bathroom. He locks himself in a stall and sits on the lid of the toilet, taking heaving breaths, hands bunched into his pants legs. So angry, fuck, shouldn’t have yelled at the end. Getting emotional doesn’t help anyone, least of all Jack.

Brian covers his face, breathing slower now. Pushes away Beverly’s face, no, can’t think about that right now. He’s got work to do. Paperwork, more of it now, once Prurnell finds out he called her out during the interview. He won’t get back on field duty for months. Trapped in an endless slog of paperwork. Maybe he should just quit.

_Not yet,_ he thinks. _Not until this is over._

Because it’s not over. Because there’s a man out there, sitting at a table outside a gelateria in Florence, or driving down a side street in Paris, or drinking wine in a vineyard in Spain. Dr. Lecter is enjoying himself while Brian sits here on a cold toilet seat and remembers all the people who died at that man’s hands. Brian remembers the bruise marks on Beverly’s throat, angry purple thumb prints that took away a piece of him and left him lying in a puddle on the floor, holding Jimmy and wishing to die.

Brian washes his face in the bathroom sink and walks out. He presses the elevator button for the fourth floor and waits, tapping his toes to fill the silence of the empty corridor. The numbers tick down on the counter above the door: seven, six, five…. It stops at four for about twenty seconds, then continues: three, two, and the doors swish open.

Jimmy is busy staring upwards, mouthing words in that way he does sometimes when he’s trying to parse something out. He doesn’t seem to notice Brian for about three seconds, three seconds for Brian’s brain to short out conveniently, leaving him nothing to say.

Jimmy finally meets Brian’s eyes for a moment, and then just as quickly looks away, slipping past him with only a quickly spoken “Agent Zeller” to acknowledge his presence. Doesn’t nod, doesn’t smile, uses his professional title. As if he’s not important enough to waste words on.

Brian watches him go, frozen, shell-shocked. There’s a yawning chasm opening up in his stomach, and it takes all of his willpower to turn around and step into the elevator. The doors close, and Brian presses the elevator stop button mid-way up to the next floor. He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes.

Not one damn word, other than his name. Years of friendship and Jimmy can’t spare him the time of day anymore. This isn’t fair, what the hell did he do to deserve the cold shoulder? Nothing, that’s what.

If Prurnell ever did put them back onto active duty together, would Jimmy still ignore him? Call him “Agent Zeller,” only talk about cases, no touching, no more communicating through smiles and facial expressions only they understand, no more stupid drunk Chinese food nights, no more karaoke, no more sleeping head to foot in a queen sized bed and laughing about it because the BAU was too cheap to get them double beds...

No more Jimmy…

Brian has barely been able to wrap his head around Beverly being gone. Hasn’t been able to, if he’s honest with himself. There’s always an empty chair, or two extra beers in the six pack, or a birthday present bought nine months ago that’s still sitting under his bed, never to be unwrapped. That present in particular… No, can’t think about it, won’t think about it. The point is, Brian has already lost one of them. The idea of losing them both is, well, his mind won’t let him contemplate it.

He hits the start button, and the elevator starts moving again. Brian straightens up, wipes his face, and folds his hands. The door opens on the third floor, and there’s a woman standing there, looking confused. “Everything alright?” she asks. “Did the elevator get stuck? It wasn’t moving for a few minutes.”

Brian steps outs past her, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine, go ahead.” This isn’t his floor, but he’ll walk up the stairwell the rest of the way. Hopefully by the time he gets back to his office, he’ll have cleared his head.

 

~

 

A week later, Brian gets a text message that brings his loneliness back into focus.

_out of the hospital_

_need to see you and price at my house 6pm sharp tonight_

_-jack_

Brian hadn’t even known Jack was getting out today. Nobody had bothered to tell him, and he wasn’t about to go bothering Bella about her husband’s condition. She had enough on her plate. It makes sense though. Other than the extreme blood loss, Jack only suffered one major injury, and his jugular has likely healed up enough that they’re no longer worried about blood clots or having it burst open again. He didn’t have his spine shattered, like Dr. Bloom, or his guts ripped open like Graham. Jack is probably gonna have one ugly scar, though.

He wants Brian to bring Jimmy. This presents a problem, obviously one Jack is not aware of. Brian texts him back.

_might not be able to get Jimmy. just me still okay?_

Jack is never slow to answer messages, and Brian gets a reply in about thirty seconds.

_bring him if you can but just you is ok. they didn’t suspend him did they? or you either?_

If only it was that easy. Brian sends a quick reply.

_no, we’re fine. i’ll explain later. see you at 6._

He’d rather not attempt to explain through text messages the nebulous clusterfuck that is currently his and Jimmy’s relationship. It seems more of an ‘in person’ conversation. But now he’s got to go down the hall and try to have an actual conversation with Price. Brian is not a betting man, but he’d bet against himself if he was. _Ugh, I’m gonna pray for these stacks of paperwork to fall and smother me, put me out of my misery. Or maybe I can hide behind them, keep taking a paycheck, and retire in thirty years without anyone remembering I’m in here._

He gets up the courage to walk over to Jimmy’s office around two o’clock. Jimmy should be back from lunch by now, and Brian snuck a peek in there earlier, no paperwork in sight. He doesn’t even knock, knows Jimmy would probably tell him to go away, “too busy.” He just opens the door and starts talking.

“Jim, need to talk to you.”

Jimmy’s just where Brian thought he’d be, at his desk, clicking away on his computer. Probably screwing around on Facebook or some stupid browser game. Brian swears the man is more addicted to technology than any millennial or Gen Xer.

When Brian comes in, Jimmy glances up and immediately frowns, looking down at the screen.

“Can’t talk, Zeller. Time sensitive report.”

_Bullshit,_ Brian thinks. _Right hand on the mouse, left on the WASD keys. You don’t fool me, old man._ He doesn’t say that, though. Instead he blurts out the only thing Jimmy won’t ignore him for. “Jack’s out of the hospital. He wants us to come over tonight.”

This does get Jimmy to finally look up at him, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Exactly what for?” he says after a long pause.

Brian shakes his head. “No idea, he didn’t tell me. But he explicitly wanted both of us. You and me. Not just one or the other. Both.” _Shut up, shut up, you’re babbling, remain calm._

Jimmy looks at him blithely and then back to the screen. “I’ve got an AA meeting tonight. Probably won’t make it.”

“You’re in AA?” If it’s true, it’s a damn good excuse. If not, it’s a callous attempt to play with Brian’s emotions by lying about something Brian’s always wished he would do.

“Yep.” Jimmy doesn’t look up, so Brian can’t tell whether he’s fibbing. He can always tell whether Jimmy is lying or not by his eyes. “Need to get back to this. I’ll come by if I can.”

That’s definitely a no. _Nuh uh, you don’t get out of this that easily._ “Aren’t there other meetings earlier? Or later? Or you could go tomorrow-”

“I’m not changing it,” Jimmy snaps, and he does look up this time, fixing Brian with a clear, definitive stare that says _don’t push it_. “I’d thank you not to tell me how to spend my personal time, _Agent_ Zeller.”

Brian goes white, stomach twisting into nauseated knots. Jimmy has never spoken to him like that, so cold, unfeeling, dismissive. Not even when he’s been furious at Brian. His tone implies that they’re strangers, and Brian’s just a meddling coworker.

Jimmy can obviously see the hurt in his face, because his stern expression breaks just for a moment, into concern, and he opens his mouth. But Brian’s already hissing a pained “ _fuck you, Jim_ ,” and slams the door, striding away.

He goes to the roof and leans against the big air conditioning unit, steadying his trembling hands against the metal. There’s a packet of smokes in his desk drawer that he only pulls out on the worst sorts of days, and he’s so tempted to go get one. But that would mean going back to the fourth floor, and risk the chance Jimmy’s gone looking for him. Ironic that the one thing Brian’s wanted for two months is the thing he’s trying to avoid right now.

So, that’s a no for Jimmy on going to Jack’s house. Luckily, it’s Friday, and since Brian is not assigned to a case, he can clock out early. He didn’t bring a coat, and his spare house keys are in the car, the key for which is in his pocket. His phone is in his other pocket. He hasn’t needed his briefcase or duffel bag for weeks; those can stay in the office. The janitorial staff will turn all his lights off when they come in tonight. He can just leave now.

He gets in the elevator, and thankfully doesn’t see Jimmy on the ride down. The carport is empty of people, and he gets into his car, breathing a sigh of relief when he makes it to the highway. He doesn’t want to go home right now though. Too quiet there, no one around anymore to share the space. Maybe he should get a dog. Or move to a smaller place. Or just move somewhere else far away from all this…

Brian turns the knob on the radio until it lands on something that doesn’t annoy him, and just drives. The back roads of Bethesda are mostly wooded areas, places you can get lost in. They tried camping around here once, but had to shut the trip down three hours in when Jimmy was covered in dozens of mosquito bites and in serious need of a giant bottle of aloe vera. That’s the price you pay for having an O blood type. At least they had a nice dinner at a local diner. Beverly even paid for them all, she felt so bad.

What would Beverly say, if she could see how they were now? She’d probably smack Brian upside the head and tell him to grow a pair and get Price out of his shell. Barring that, she’d lock the both of them in a room until they worked things out. She would never take any of the bullshit he and Jimmy got into. “So pig-headed,” she’d say, rolling her eyes. “Either get a room or talk to each other like adults. This is a lab, not a pre-school.”  But she’s not here to be the mediator anymore.

Brian loved her for that, for being able to handle their nonsense. She was so strong, just like his mom and his sisters. Always ready for a good time, sensible, but able to cut loose when need be. A genius of a woman; for all Brian’s arrogance about his own intelligence, she often surprised him. She knew when he needed to be pushed and when he needed a sympathetic ear. She wouldn’t spend every moment mothering him, but she’d always be there if he needed it.

Brian thinks about the package sitting under his bed, unopened; the joy that he anticipated from it never produced.

Yes, he’d loved her, and over time it became apparent to him that maybe it wasn’t just platonic. Maybe he’d spent so much time searching other places for what he wanted, when it was in front of him all along.

But he was a coward; telling her directly was out of the question. So he’d gone to a jewelry store, picked out a necklace he thought she’d like, and wrapped it for her birthday. It was expensive, much too expensive to give to a friend. He’d give it to her in private, maybe open the clasp as she looked on in surprise. Lean in as he slipped it around her neck…

He slams on the brakes as his vision clouds over, and the car behind him almost crashes into his bumper, swerving away at the last second, laying on the horn as it passes. His hands shake too much to hold the wheel, so he jerks the car onto the shoulder and parks.

He can’t slip the present around her neck, because Hannibal Lecter got there first. Yeah, so in love, and she couldn't trust me, he thinks, leaning against the door, holding himself to hold back his sobs. _Too up my own ass to see when she needed me, for all the times I needed her. And now she’s gone. Lot of fucking good my love did for her._

He never told Jimmy. Not fair to make him a third wheel and fuck up the fantastic friendship they all had. Honestly, even if Brian and Beverly had ever done anything, it wouldn't feel right to not keep doing everything with the three of them, sex excluded. Not that he doesn't find Jimmy attractive, he does. The man is especially handsome when Brian has actually managed to do something amazing and Jimmy looks at him like he’s the center of the universe; that soft, pleased smile, biting the edge of his lip ever so slightly…

Brian wipes his eyes. The tears and the shaking have stopped. He feels better, surprisingly better, by the thought of Jimmy’s smile. It’s slightly soured by the fact that he hasn't seen said smile in months. _Maybe I shouldn't have chickened out today_ , Brian thinks, resting his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes.

Half the problem is Brian’s inability to just be confrontational with people he cares about. Strangers, he’s got no problem telling off. But there’s a fragility to Jimmy that he worries about breaking. If she were alive, Beverly would tell him to keep pushing, because Jimmy is liable to keep retreating if no one is trying to get him out of his shell.

_It’s so unfair,_ Brian thinks. _You left us, and I had to keep us both alive, and now everything’s fallen to pieces. I’m so tired… Do I have to keep going?_

He knows what she’d say. So he puts the car back on the road and drives.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! I'm still in the process of writing the end, but this is likely going to be around 10-13 chapters when all is said and done.

 

 

Six pm sharp, Brian is at Jack’s door with a bottle of a nicer variety of wine, something slightly fancier than the ten dollar stuff that he uses to get drunk. He doesn’t think this is supposed to be a formal event, so he’s in jeans and a button down (he’s not stupid, you don’t go to your boss’s house in a Dungeons & Dragons t-shirt). He rings the bell and waits.

He can hear a slow-paced footsteps coming toward the door, and it opens to reveal Jack, looking well-dressed for someone who got out of the hospital: red-button down (no tie though), black slacks, hair... well, he doesn’t have enough hair to really mess it up. There’s a big white bandage on his neck, likely covering a row of still-healing stitches. He nods at Brian and… and is that a hint of a _smile_? Directed at _him_?

“Zeller,” Jack says, stepping back to let him enter. “Thanks for coming. Price couldn’t make it, I’m guessing.”

“Yep,” Brian says, though he’s thinking _more like lied out of his ass to avoid coming_. “Just me, and a bottle of hopefully palatable wine.”

“That’s still going to be more refined than what we’re having for dinner,” Jack says, shutting the door. “I ordered pizza. It’ll be here in ten.”

“Nothing in the house since you just got out. Makes sense.”

Jack walks with him to the living room, hands in his pockets. “Bella’s been here, I had a nursing service come take care of her while I was gone. Might keep it going, they make all her meals. The idea of cooking is less appealing to me nowadays.”

“Ahh. Right.” Brian puts the bottle on the glass coffee table and Jack motions for him to sit on the plush leather couch. He does, and Jack takes the armchair across from it. “How is Bella? Is she able to come down, or should I go up and say hi?”

Jack shakes his head. “She’s resting, I’d rather not wake her. It’s hard for her to fall asleep nowadays. If she wakes up before you leave, you can say hi.” He folds his hands in front of his face, fingertips making an upside-down V shape. “So what was Price’s excuse for not being here?”

“Not wanting to be in the same room with me, I’m guessing.” Jack quirks an eyebrow, and Brian sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “He’s been avoiding me since, well, since the incident at Lecter’s house.” Jack’s eyebrow goes even higher.

“Did you two have a fight?”

“Wish it was that simple. I’ve got no idea what’s going on with him. We’ve been put on desk duty since they won’t let us on the task force for the Lecter investigation. He avoids me at any opportunity.” Brian looks down, feeling a bit sheepish. “This isn’t the point of why I’m here; you don’t need to play therapist. So why _am_ I here?”

The doorbell rings, and Jack holds up a finger, getting up to answer the door. For a moment, Brian has the faint hope that Jimmy has decided to show after all, but Jack comes back with two pizza boxes and puts them on the table. He tosses Brian the corkscrew from the nearby bar cart, and puts two tumblers on the table for them as Brian pops the cork. There are paper plates that came with the pizzas, so they grab slices and settle back into their respective seats, pizza in one hand, wine in the other.

“They’ve taken you off the case completely then,” Jack says, ignoring the pizza for a moment to sip the wine. Brian is famished, hasn’t eaten since this morning, so he takes a too-large bite, and burns his tongue, and it’s a good twenty seconds before he can swallow and answer.

“Completely. Prurnell has us isolated, orders are to not tell us anything about what’s going on. I’m guessing she’s afraid we’ll get an idea of where Lecter is located and go off on our own to find him.”

Jack’s taken a small bite while he listens, nodding along. “I might do the same in her position. She’s probably taking heat for what happened at Lecter’s house, and she doesn’t need things exacerbated.”

“She should take heat for it,” Brian grumbles. “Almost got you killed, along with Graham and Dr. Bloom, and now Hobbs is actually dead and not just missing.”

Jack shrugs. “I’m not the woman’s biggest fan, but to an outsider coming in, we were well past where we were allowed to be.” He’s put the glass down on the table, and leans in, elbows on his knees. “You know well as I do who’s really to blame for all of this.”

“Hannibal Lecter.” Just saying his name kills Brian’s appetite; he abandons the plate and glass onto the table. “Yeah, I know who’s to blame. It’s not like I can do anything, though. If I even look like I’m trying to poke at the investigation, I’ll get suspended.”

“Not if you’re investigating on your own time. Outside of the BAU’s confines.”

Brian raises an eyebrow, leans in as well, curious. “How would I do that?”

“One perk of being in charge of a highly-specialized investigatory team in a federal agency is making international friends along the way,” Jack says, standing up and walking over to the mantle above the fireplace. There’s a file folder sitting there that Brian hadn’t noticed. He picks it up and hands it to Brian. “I asked some people I know at Interpol to keep me notified. They’ve been working with the FBI broadly and with Purnell's office specifically as the liaison to all the various law enforcement agencies involved in the European side of the investigation. I offered to give them information the BAU doesn’t know, things only the few of us who were investigating Lecter know. They offered to keep me informed of their side of the investigation in return.”

Brian opens the folder to see documents with INTERPOL seals on them, photocopies of handwritten notes, and a few blurry pictures. There is the back of a man’s head in one, dirty blond hair, broad shoulders. The hair on the back of Brian’s neck stands up, and he closes the folder and tosses it onto the pizza boxes. “You’re feeding classified FBI information to an international source, Jack. Some might consider that treason.”

“It isn’t FBI information.” Jack leans back against the mantle, folding his arms. “It’s information we’ve yet to disclose to the FBI. It's a sin of omission. I’m in a grey area, but the entire Lecter investigation was a grey area. I’m willing to take my chances.”

“So you want Price and me to help you go over this? And since he’s currently living in a cone of silence, just me then?”

“Not exactly. I wanted you and Price to help me bring another person into the fold. He’s not your biggest fan, but he respects your work. And he generally likes Price. That was my way of easing him into the idea of working with us again, to be honest…”

“Who- wait, Will Graham?” When Jack nods, Brian groans and flops back against the couch. “You’ve got to be- he’s not even out of the hospital yet, Jack! And Hannibal Lecter almost disemboweled him! Why would you send me and Price to him instead of going yourself?”

“I did go.” Jack stares at his feet, and Brian notices the bags under his eyes, the lines on his face that have deepened; for the first time tonight, Brian notices that Jack has aged more in the last two years that he has in the decade or so that Brian has known him. “I walked into the room and he yelled at me to get out. Barred me from his hospital room. He’s not exactly my biggest fan right now.”

“What makes you think he won't do the same to me?”

“You were just as much under my supervision as he was. He knows that. If he’s going to blame someone for what went wrong, it makes sense that it would be me or Lecter. But you and Price, for whatever you think, are blameless in what happened.” Jack pauses and gestures towards Brian with his wine glass. “And you and Will Graham are more alike that you’d both admit.”

Brian glances at the file, closes his eyes, and sighs. “So my assignment is to somehow convince Will that we won’t fuck up catching Lecter twice in a row.”

“I’m only asking you to talk to him.” Jack has moved back to the armchair when Brian opens his eyes again. “Use your own discretion, judge for yourself whether or not he’s in any condition to help us. I trust you.”

“Alright. I’ll talk to him. But he’s still in the hospital. If anyone sees me poking around there looking for him and reports it to Prurnell, my ass is canned.”

“I’ve thought of that already,” Jack says, lips curling back into a genuine smile, mischief in his eyes. “How do you like dogs?”

 

~

 

The late summer sun makes any sort of outside running a bitch to do, but Brian knows that the dogs need the exercise just as much as he does. He takes deep gulping breaths and stamps his feet on the dirt trail as the animals race around his legs, and he tries to avoid tripping over them. He’s taken the shorter trail for this run, only two miles from start to finish. Two weeks of doing this have given him an idea of the dogs’ personalities and behavior patterns, he’s much less liable to find his face in the dirt because of a rogue body darting beneath his feet.

When he gets in sight of the house, he can see a car winding its way up the dirt road towards them. The woman who was watching Will Graham’s dogs before Brian had left for a well-earned vacation last Wednesday, so it couldn’t be her. And Brian recognizes the car. He runs the rest of the way with the dogs, stopping against the railing of the patio and giving a wave to the driver while he catches his breath, grabs the water bottle he left there and chugs it, then dumps some over his head.

Will Graham steps out of the car and stares at him, just stands there and looks at him, and it goes on for so long that Brian thinks he’s having another encephalitis-induced seizure. The dogs are barking and yelping happily and running circles around Will’s feet, and all he can do is give Brian the stink eye.

“You know, when people look at me like that, they’re usually gearing up to fight me or fuck me,” Brian says, breaking the tension. “I’m guessing it’s not the latter, so if it’s the former, let me have a quick rest first.”

That finally gets Will to snap out of it. He shuts the car door, and Brian sees the cane in his hand. He leans against it awkwardly, obviously untrained at moving with it, and hobbles up to the house slowly, looking back and forth between the door of the house and Brian. Finally, he speaks. “I’m not going to fight you.”

“Good. It might confuse the dogs if you punch the guy who’s been feeding them for two weeks.” He grabs the water bottle and the towel hanging over the railing, and steps up onto the patio, making sure to give Will some space and stay in his field of vision. Will fumbles with the house keys, and Brian leans against the house’s faded white shingles, mopping his forehead with the towel. When Will finally gets the door open, he leaves it open, and Brian takes that as a signal that he’s welcome to come in.

“Why are you feeding my dogs?” Will asks as he drops the keys onto a side table, moving towards the kitchen.

“Your neighbor, that vet lady? She was watching them, but she went on vacation. I volunteered to take over.” Brian sits on the edge of the armchair in the corner, unable to relax. The house was less intimidating when Will wasn’t in it.

He hears noises in the kitchen, and Will walks back out with two glasses of water, held by the rims in his free hand. “You mean Jack volunteered you to take over,” he says, putting the glasses down on the bookshelf beside the chair.

Brian mumbles a thanks for the water, downing the whole glass in one long gulp. “Not about to lie to you, so yeah, he volunteered me.” Will nudges the other glass over to him, and sits down in the chair across from Brian. Brian drinks this glass more slowly, watching as Will greets each of the dogs, speaking softly to them and quieting them down, until they’re all sitting or laying around his feet. “Man, you’re like the dog-whisperer,” Brian says, resting his hands on his knees.

“Thank you for taking care of them,” Will says, turning his attention from the dogs to Brian. “Even if your motivation wasn’t altruistic. I’m guessing Jack wants you to try to convince me to do whatever it was he wanted to talk to me about at the hospital.” He shifts in the chair, hands fidgeting with the cane, obviously uncomfortable.

“Yeah. Listen, I’m not gonna beg or kiss your ass over this. But just hear me out. Give me ten minutes, and if you don’t like what you hear, feel free to show me the door. Do that and you won’t owe me anything for watching the dogs.”

Will glances down at the animals, and the tension in his posture fades a bit. He raises his eyes briefly to meet Brian’s, giving a short nod.

Brian gets up and goes over to the bag he brought with him to the house. He sits back down and pulls out the file Jack gave him two weeks ago, now with a few additions. Brian hands it over to Will, and tells him about Jack’s sources, about how Brian and Jimmy have been barred from the case. “There’s a picture of Hannibal in there from last Friday, right outside of Paris. He’s still on the move, obviously hasn’t found a place to go to ground yet. The Europeans are chasing him better than we did, apparently.”

“He’ll be nearly impossible to find, once he does find a safe place,” Will says, nodding and looking over the folder. “I’ve been thinking that he’s done this sort of thing before, maybe under a different name. He knows how to disappear if he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Exactly. Right now we have the advantage. Look, he hasn’t even bothered to dye his hair or grow a mustache. And we know he has Dr. DuMaurier with him, so two people means two faces that might be recognized.”

“He took Dr. DuMaurier?” Will looks up at Brian, confused. “As a hostage or…?”

Brian shakes his head. “We think she left willingly. She’d emptied her bank accounts and packed things to take with her.” He sees Will’s shoulders droop as the man looks back down at the file.

“So… what’s the point of talking to me?” Will asks a few minutes later. “You said they were doing a good job over there keeping track of him.”

“But they’re always a few steps behind. Do you honestly think they’ll be able to catch him without help?”

“Maybe.” Will closes the folder, hands it back to Brian. His eyes wander over to the window, looking outwards. “They might manage what I didn’t.”

“You’re the only one who’s gotten close, Will. Hannibal is like smoke, and you’re the only one who can see where the fire is.” Will does look at him then, surprise flickering over his usually well-guarded features.

“What could I possibly do five thousand miles away, without the resources of the FBI?” Will asks.

“I know you and Jack did things that weren’t kosher,” Brian says, reaching out to pet one of the dogs that’s come up to sniff his leg. “You did more outside the confines of the FBI than we could do within it. I can bring you the pieces, and you can put the puzzle together.”

Will is quiet for a long time after that. Brian keeps petting the dog, feeling the sweat cool on his back, making his skin prickle and goosebump from the chill.

“Why are you doing this?”

Brian pauses his hand, then resumes petting, not looking up. “You know why,” he says.

“Beverly. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t, Graham. I already told you. She didn’t feel she could come to us. We let her down. The only apology we all owe is to her. This is my way of apologizing.”

“Jack only sent you? Not Jimmy?” Brian glances up, and Will looks honestly curious.

“Jim and I… aren’t on speaking terms at the moment.” Will’s eyebrows go up in the same way Jack’s had two weeks ago. “His wishes, not mine. Look. There isn’t much more I could say to convince you. But I know what I’d like to do to Lecter if I ever see his face again, and I’d imagine you feel that even more than I do.” Brian stands up, putting the folder down on the bookshelf and picking up his bag. “So here’s my promise. If we get Dr. Lecter into custody, I’ll find a way to get you in a room alone with him for five minutes. No cameras, no voice recorders, no security. Just you and him.”

“You’d be fired for doing that.”

“And I wouldn’t regret it. The only reason I’m still at the BAU is because I can’t let this go until Beverly’s death means something. And it’ll only mean something if Lecter gets what he deserves.” Brian points to the folder. “I’ll leave that here. Look it over, think about it. Get back to me when you’ve decided. You’ve got my number. There’s enough dog food to last another week in the basement, and some ready-heat meals in the freezer.” Giving Will a nod, he heads out the door.

He’s almost made it to his car when he hears the front door open. “Zeller!”

Brian turns, and Will is making his way down the steps slowly with the cane. Brian takes a few steps towards him, and they meet in the middle. Will holds out his hand to shake, meeting Brian’s gaze.

“I’ll do it.”

 

~

 

Something about having good investigative work to finally do again has put the spark back in Brian’s step. He’s agreed to bring Will any updates once a week, or more often if they get some crucial piece of evidence. Jack actually _smiled_ at Brian when he told the man that Will had agreed to work with them. “Knew I could trust you, Zee,” he said.

Brian finds that Will is more agreeable to work with when he has some alcohol in him, so Brian always brings a bottle of something: whiskey, scotch, wine, one time a bottle of daquiri mix he finds in the back of his freezer. They’ve set up a large corkboard against Will’s fireplace, and Brian bought a filing cabinet at an outlet store. He and Will usually sit there for about three hours, pouring over new evidence and any old information Brian manages to smuggle out of the BAU.

He finds he’s actually having _fun_ for a change, and going to work is less hard because he’s got a mental corkboard he’s constantly thinking about, even as he’s looking over the thousandth pile of paperwork. He finds himself sitting on the roof at lunch, scribbling notes away from prying eyes, lest someone see something they can report to the higher ups.

One day he goes up to the roof and opens the door, only to see Jimmy leaning against the air conditioning unit, arms folded, staring up at the sky. Brian freezes as Jimmy looks down, noticing him.

“Sorry, I’ll just -”

“No, stay. I was just going.” Jimmy moves quickly, eyes fixed to the ground, and sweeps past him down the stairs.

Brian sets his things down, appetite gone. He slides down against the unit, picks up the notepad, and stares at it. But he can’t concentrate enough to write anything down. His mind is too fixated on Jimmy.

Another month gone, and no closer to figuring out why Jimmy won’t speak to him. Brian hasn’t really been trying to find out lately, if he’s being honest. He’s been so focused on this case, working with Will and Jack, that Jimmy has been at the periphery of his thoughts.

That makes him feel a little guilty, then angry. Jimmy should be right there in Wolf Trap every weekend with Brian and Will, pouring over papers, drinking good alcohol, making jokes to lighten the oppressively negative mood. Instead he’s avoiding Brian in the halls and ignoring the text that Brian sends him once a week: _are you okay?_

One night, after he and Will get up the courage to dive into Beverly’s case file, Brian goes home and dreams of her, of Dr. Lecter’s hands around her neck, a wall of impenetrable glass between him and the two of them. He pounds his fists and screams, unable to do anything as he watches the light leave her eyes. Except the scene shifts, and suddenly it’s not Beverly that Hannibal is taking away from him. It’s Jimmy, eyes wide in fear, reaching for him through the glass.

Brian wakes up and runs to the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach into the bowl. _Drank too damn much_ , he thinks, even though he knows he was sober when he left Will’s house. He slides down onto his rear and leans against the toilet, wiping sweat from his brow and the salty tears he'd apparently shed during the nightmare. If he were to look at himself in the mirror right now, he imagines that he’ll see the same dark circles that he saw under Jack’s eyes. He’s eating less, hasn’t exercised much since he took care of Will’s dogs, and that was three weeks ago. The Lecter case has motivated him, but has also become an obsession, draining him.

On an impulse, he gets up and stumbles back to the bedroom, dropping to his knees and tugging a small box out from under the bed. He carefully peels back the red wrapping paper, setting it aside, and takes the top off the box. A glittering pendant sits against the soft fabric inside: a small violin and attached bow, made of gold, two small emeralds set into the top of the violin and the base of the bow.

_She didn’t even like playing the violin,_ he thinks, letting out a laugh at his own stupidity. _And here I go, buying her something like this._

He places the top back on the box and sets it on the floor, leaning against the bed and closing his eyes.

_She always said I never thought things through all the way. Stopped at the point that proved I was right, and didn’t bother to reach the accurate conclusion._

He’s remembering things. Kissing her at a New Year’s party since neither of them had a date. He felt flush and warm, but that was from the alcohol, not from her. Or the dress she wore to the last Christmas party. It hugged her body in all the right places, and she looked gorgeous… but only that. There was no pull, no spark there. Now that he tries, he can’t even imagine himself want to peel her out of that dress. He wants to leave her in it, perfect, untouchable, unattainable.

She loved him. He loved her. But that awe she inspired in him… that thing he thought was passion, maybe it was reverence instead. Maybe that’s why he failed to see what was really going on with her. He’d put her on a pedestal, forgetting that she was human, and needed him too sometimes. She’d needed him, but she couldn’t trust him.

Jimmy saw her that way too, Brian thinks. Above them both, almost superhuman. When she broke up with boyfriends, she came into work the next day, bright-eyed and cheery. When her dad got sick, she left for a week, and returned looking no worse for wear. She hadn’t needed them the way they needed her. Needed each other.

_Except she did_ , Brian thinks. _She needed us and we couldn’t see it._

What do you do with the knowledge that your own blindness lead to someone’s death? It doesn’t matter if you didn’t wield the knife, or the rope, or the gun. Your friend asks you a question, and you direct her to her death sentence. If only you’d asked her why she wanted to know.

Every day Brian walks down the hall, he passes her old office, lights off, empty of furniture, personal effects boxed up, still uncollected by her relatives. He’s worried one day he’ll come in to work and find Jimmy’s office just as devoid of life.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and fair criticism always appreciated, dear readers!


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

“Agent Menendez.”

Menendez looks up from her desk. “Agent Zeller.”

“Got a question for you.”

She frowns. “Is it something I’m allowed to answer without getting fired?”

Brian grins and plops down in the chair in front of her desk. “Sure it is,” he says. She squints at him, pushing her tongue against the inside of her upper lip. “I just need the information we gleaned from a background check,” he continues.

“What suspect?” Menendez asks.

“Last name starts with an L, I can’t remember, file’s on the desk in my-”

“No.”

“Come on, Carla! They’ve restricted my access to archival files and it’s making it nearly impossible to get any of this work done. You can grant me access. Let me off the leash.”

Carla takes her glasses off and rubs her eyes, stroking a hand back through her jet black hair. “Brian, I can’t grant access to anyone unless I run it by Prurnell. She’s more hands-on than Crawford was. Even if I felt like skirting her rules, she’d know by the end of the day. She doesn’t want anyone leaking information about the Lecter case, considering how high-profile it is.”

“You know I’m not gonna leak anything.”

“Freddie Lounds found out about Agent Graham when only half a dozen people knew he was working on the Minnesota Shrike case,” Carla says, giving him a pointed look. Brian feels his face flush. “I’m not saying it was you, but there’s about an 18% chance it was.”

_Try 100%,_ Brian thinks, clearing his throat. “So you can’t help me at _all_? No loopholes you can exploit?”

“Zeller, I like you generally, but don’t make me report you. We both know why you’re locked out of the archives.” Carla sits back in her chair, folding her arms. “You let Jack get away with shit you knew wouldn’t fly if it were made public. He knew he could trust you and Price because you wouldn’t tattle on him.”

Brian frowns, shrugs. “The ends justified the means. Or they would’ve, if we hadn’t been fucked over at the last minute.”

“This is why we have protocols in place,” Carla says. “We get too close to cases and we can’t see where we’re going wrong.”

“You can’t understand if you weren’t in the thick of it.” He picks at the fabric on the chair, eyes focused on his movements. “Lecter brought us too close, we didn’t volunteer for it. Everything he did was well-practiced manipulation.” He glances up at her. “I can’t be faulted for not thinking clearly after he took Bev.” God, when did everybody around here get to be such a stickler for rules...

“You think you’re the first agent to lose friends on the job?” Carla points to a photograph on the wall, some sort of agency barbeque. “Did you forget what Dr. Lecter did to Agent Kowalski and Agent Harper?”

  
Brian winces, remembering the two agents who were supposed to bring Chilton in for questioning. It could’ve just as easily been himself and Price that Jack sent to pick Chilton up. Could they have overpowered Hannibal? Or would they have been even more vulnerable because they knew the man?

“Were you close to them?” Brian asks.

Carla shrugs. “Not particularly. But I saw them around the halls, chatted with them and their wives at agency events. And they had close friends here, other agents. Do you see any of their friends planning wild revenge schemes against Dr. Lecter?”

“Pretty sure their friends aren’t banned from archives,” Brian grumbles. Carla raises an eyebrow, and Brian sighs. “Fine. I don’t necessarily agree with your point, but I get it. I won’t ask again.”

“Thank you.”

Carla looks back down at the files in front of her. Brian glances at the clock; it’s late enough for lunch. He could go down to the cafeteria and eat alone… again. It’s not like the BAU is composed of cliques, like some petty emulation of high school, but people have been giving him a wide berth since May. He hasn’t really tried to fight it either. They think they’re helping, but he just wants to get back to normal.

“Hey, you up for lunch?” Brian asks.

“I would, but I ate half an hour ago. Sorry. Don’t you usually go with Price anyway?”

“When was the last time you saw the two of us in the same place at the same time?”

“Did you two have a fight?”

“If only… Eh, forget it.” He stands up, giving her a half-hearted smile. “Thanks anyway.”

“Zeller…” He pauses in the doorway, looking back. Carla nods at him. “It’ll get better. Just give it time.”

“Right…” Except he’s not sure it really will. Nobody here understands what he’s been through, and the only other person who does won’t acknowledge his presence anymore.

Brian walks back to his office, hands in his pockets, planning his next move. Will had suggested trying to get the background check; if they knew more about Hannibal’s history, that might point them in the right direction. Hannibal had only told Will so much about his past, and there were important holes missing.

Somebody else must know something about Lecter’s history. Somebody he was close to…

_Yeah… it’s worth a try,_ Brian thinks, speeding up. _Even if Will is probably gonna kill me for suggesting it._

 

~

 

“I don’t want to do this.”

“I know you don’t, Will.” Brian adjusts the air in the car, blasting the cold. It’s unseasonably warm right now. Or maybe this is just nervous sweating. “That’s why I’m driving the both of us, so you don’t chicken out at the last moment and leave me on my own.”

“She won’t want to talk to me,” Will says. “Not after what happened.”

“Really? You sure? Because I told her both of us were coming and she was fine with it,” Brian says. Will glances over, giving him a questioning look. “You don’t have to talk much. Just listen, take notes, and ask her any relevant questions you can think of. Stop worrying so much.”

Will raises his eyes to the ceiling and sucks in a breath, a nervous, tortured smile on his face. “Yeah, nothing to worry about at _all_.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They pull into the driveway of the small white house. Brian notices the temporary wheelchair ramp that’s been installed on the stoop when he gets out of the car. He walks towards the house, Will shuffling behind him like a condemned man. _Overdramatic, isn’t he,_ Brian thinks. He rings the doorbell and waits.

A thin, young looking black man answers the door, wearing nurse’s scrubs. “Dr. Bloom said you two were coming,” he says, opening the screen. “I was just finished helping her out. She’s in the office.”

“I know where it is,” Will mumbles from behind. The young man looks at Will, then raises his eyebrow at Brian questioningly. Brian shrugs and mouths _don’t ask_.

The young man steps out, and they go inside. The foyer is small; there’s an elegantly decorated living space to the left, and smooth marble floors all over the place. Will nods his head to the right. “Office is down that hall. Door at the end.”

Brian knocks on the door when he reaches it. Alana calls for them to come in. She’s sitting behind a large wooden desk when he opens the door. Bookshelves cover the right wall, stuffed with dozens of psychology tomes. There’s a small sitting area with two plush chairs and a small table to the right. Probably where she sees patients. Or saw them.

It’s mid-September, almost four months since her fall from a second-story window, and Alana Bloom looks surprisingly chipper and healthy. Her eyes are bright, skin clear, hair falling in perfect flowing locks around her shoulders. The only evidence of the damage done to her materializes when she wheels out from behind the desk, revealing the chair she’s been relegated to.

“Agent Zeller, good to see you.” She smiles and shakes his hand. “You’re my first visitors since I got out of the hospital.”

“Good to see you as well, Dr. Bloom,” Brian says. “You’ve been out for a few weeks, right? I’m guessing the man we met on the way out was an at-home nurse?”

Alana nods. “Brandon works as an at-home part time and at a hospital as well. He studied psychology in undergraduate, so we get along quite well.” She’s still wearing one of her patented pencil skirts, legs together and feet resting against the lower bar. She folds her hands in her lap and looks past Brian, to the man behind him. “Hello, Will.”

Will steps forward, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed at a point directly above Dr. Bloom’s head. “Hello, Alana,” he says. He says nothing more, and only then does Brian see her smile falter a bit.

“Please sit,” she says, motioning to the chairs in front of her desk. She wheels back behind the desk as Will and Brian sit down. “You said you had fairly urgent questions on the phone, Agent Zeller. I’m happy to answer them to the best of my abilities.”

Brian glances at Will. They’d had a conversation before coming here about whether Alana could be trusted to keep their investigation a secret. Will thought she could, and now he gives Brian an almost imperceptible nod. Brian hopes that he’s right.

“I’m guessing you know who I’m going to ask about,” Brian says. Alana nods. “We need to know if Dr. Lecter told you anything about his history while you and he were… well… while you were...”

“While we were intimate,” Alana finishes. “I understand. But I’m confused, I assumed you both were off the investigation. Especially you, Will.” Her voice gets a bit softer, and Brian suddenly feels like a third wheel. “You should be recovering.” Will keeps his eyes on the ground, not responding.

“We need to know,” Brian says, trying to draw her attention back to him. “It’s probably better that you don’t know why.”

Alana glances over at him, eyes searching his expression. She frowns. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Agent Zeller. I really don’t think I should-”

“Alana.” Will looks up at her, meeting her gaze. “Please.” Something unsaid passes between them.

After a moment, Alana nods her head and opens her desk drawer. She pulls out a small brown notebook, sliding it across the table to them. “After I woke up,” she says, “I wrote down everything I could remember Hannibal telling me from the last fifteen years,” she says. “I planned on giving it to the BAU, but they haven’t asked me for any information. Maybe you two will have better luck.”

“Thank you,” Brian says. He pockets the notebook. The weight of it in his jacket feels like important progress.

“I’m not giving it to you because I think it will lead to anything,” Alana says. “I’m hoping you’ll both connect the dots and end up realizing what a bad idea this is. And then you can move on, like the rest of us are trying to do.”

_You’re the only one who believes we can move on,_ Brian thinks, but he nods his head in thanks.

They get up to leave, but Alana holds up a hand. “Agent Zeller, could you let Will and I have a moment? I need to speak to him.” Will looks like he wants to run, but Brian scoots past him and is out the door before Will can move.

Brian isn’t one to eavesdrop, and Will will tell him later if they talk about something related to the case. So he waits in the foyer. Checks his text messages. There’s one from Jack:

_working with will tonight?_

Brian texts back:

_yep. call me in the morning i’ll fill you in._

He’s learned not to try and report in to Jack the night he goes to Wolf Trap. Usually either too tired or too drunk to make any sense of it.

Will appears much sooner than Brian would’ve thought; apparently it was a quick conversation. He looks a bit pale, eyes flicking back and forth rapidly, hands clenching. “Er, you alright?” Brian asks.

Will must’ve been lost in his own thoughts, because he jumps like a frightened animal when Brian speaks. “What- oh. Yes. Let’s go.” He clamps his mouth shut, and Brian figures that’s all he’s going to get out of Will for now.

In the car, Brian drives with the radio off. Will sulks in the passenger seat. Brian breaks the silence before it drives him crazy. “So, were you and she, um, a thing?”

“Could ask the same of you and your friend.”

“Wait, what?”

“Nothing.” Will stares out the window, and fidgets restlessly in his seat for several miles, and Brian thinks he's going to stay mute for the rest of the ride. Suddenly he turns to Brian. "I need to get drunk, very drunk -- very badly.”

“Don’t we usually do that anyway by the end of the night?”

“Yes…” Will drums his fingers on his knees, glancing down. “But not to the level I need.”

“What the hell happened in there? Was it really that bad?”

“Just…” Will meets his eyes for once. “I’d appreciate it.”

Brian sighs. “Fine. But you’re buying the booze. I’ve spent enough money feeding our dependencies, time for you to pitch in.”

 

~

 

The dogs are so _loud_ when Brian is three sheets to the wind. He’s lying on his back on the floor, feet propped up on an armchair, and the dogs are circling him and yowling as if to say, _what a funny position for a human to be in! Human, we will bark until you get up so we know you are not hurt!_ Brian shooes them away with his hands, but they keep coming back each time.

“They’re going to keep doing that.” Will is slouched in the armchair across from him, a glass of Glengoolie in one hand and a dour look on his face.

“I know. Ask me if I care.” Brian scratches one of them under the ear and looks at Will upside down. “Heh, it looks like you’re smilin’ when I do this!”

Will scowls and rolls his eyes. “You’re cleaning up the mess if you throw up on my rug.”

“Nah. Not that bad yet.”

“How many have you had?”

“By my last count… I’m on glass number six. How long’s it been?”

Will squints at his watch. “Umm… hour n’ half?”

“ _Psshhh_. I’ve been worse.” Brian waggles his index finger in the air. “Don’ try an outdrink Price… ‘s a losin’ proposition.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“God, drinking makes you so… so, um, what’s the word… what’s the word, Graham?”

“What word?”

“The word. The _word_! Ahh… incorrigible, that's it. You must be a _hooooot_ at parties.” Brian hiccups, swallows down the stomach acid that comes up. His head feels heavy, and he’s going to have to turn over soon if he doesn’t want to pass out.

“And yet you’re here, drinkin’ with me.” It’s Will’s turn to smirk, eyes glassy and unfocused. “‘m not your best buddy, Price. How’s it feel, getting dumped by someone you thought cared about you?”

“Hey.” Brian flips over, gets up on his knees. “Now you’re jus’ being a dick.” Will’s words are hitting too close to home. Brian is usually a fun, silly drunk, but he can switch to depressed, crying drunk pretty fast.

Will shrugs, takes a long gulp, smacking his lips. “Don’t have to put on the brave face, Brian. Not like I don’t know how it is.”

“Oh yeah… Alana, right? Man, you fucked that one up bad, didn’t you?”

“Not her…” Will stares into his empty glass, then reaches out and grabs the bottle, pouring another round, sloshing some out over the sides. “Would be easier if it was.”

“Then who- _ohhhh_. But c’mon, Will. He was using you.” Brian reaches out to nudge Will’s knee. Will closes his eyes, his breath speeding up.

“He still cared…”

“Yeah, about making you his butt boy,” Brian snorts. “He eats people, Graham. Not ‘zactly a catch.”

“You didn’t know him.”

“And you did? Name one thing he told you that wasn’t a lie.”

Will opens his eyes, glares at Brian. “He didn’t lie to me. I just never asked the right questions.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “Yeah, forgetting to mention the fact that you’re a crazy cannibal serial killer, just a lie of omission.” He hiccups, tries to focus his eyes. Maybe he should slow down…

“He’s not crazy, Brian. Anything but.” Will puts his glass down and stands up. He stumbles a bit, paces over to the door, opens it to let the dogs run outside. “He knew me better than anyone else.”

“He _ate_ people. People we knew!” Brian’s grip tightens dangerously around his glas. His arms are shaking with subtle tremors. Not from the booze, though. “And you’re… you’re _pining_ after him? What the hell is wrong with you, Graham!”

“It’s not that simple…”

“ _Yes it fucking is that simple!_ ” Brian lurches to his feet, swaying slightly. Can’t focus his eyes, his throat is closing up. “He destroys people’s lives, Will! He killed someone I loved.” Eyes stinging, too drunk for this, can’t hold anything in…

Will looks back at Brian. There’s a haunted expression on his face. “I know, Brian. I said, I’m sorry about Bev-”

“No you’re not. Because if you were, you wouldn’t have anything good to say about the guy who killed her!”

“She shouldn’t have-”

Brian’s glass shatters against the corkboard, splattering droplets of alcohol against the dozens of notes, pictures, and documents pinned to it. Will jerks, obviously not expecting Brian to throw something.

“She shouldn’t have what? _Helped_ you? Put herself in danger on _your_ behalf?”

Will is looking at the floor, and he’s curled in on himself: shoulders hunched, eyes darting back and forth. His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “I told her to be careful.”

Brian groans and grips his fingers in his hair, dropping back into the chair. He’s not sure whether he wants to curl up and cry or put his fist through Will’s face. Maybe he can do both. His vision is swimming, and his mind is screaming. What the fuck is wrong with this man in front of him? Lecter put a knife through Will’s stomach and he still admires the bastard?

“We were supposed to…” Brian looks up as Will slides down the wall next to the door, knees against his chest, staring off into the distance. “He- I didn’t know Abigail… Jack wasn’t supposed to go there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I tipped off Prurnell,” Will says. “Needed her to shut the operation down… we were going to leave. He and I. Together. I didn’t know Abigail was still - he told me he’d kept her alive because he wanted us to be a family.” He glances over at Brian, lips drawn back as he takes sharp breaths. “Jack and Alana weren’t supposed to be there.”

Brian is going to be sick. He stumbles to his feet and rushes for the door, making it off the patio just as his stomach betrays him. Bile rushes up his throat, and he leans over and vomits out the rest of the booze and the remains of his lunch. His head is spinning, and he almost falls over into his own expulsion, steadying himself at the last moment.

_He’s insane he’s a monster what the fuck am I doing here…_ Brian hears movement in the doorway behind him, a body leaning against the creaking frame. _Got to get out of here, can’t stay…_ He’s got his keys in his pocket, thank god. His coat is in the house, but fuck it, not worth going back for. Will is saying something, but Brian’s ears are ringing; he can’t hear it.

He walks in a jerking dash to his car, fumbling with the keys and scratching the hell out of the paint around the lock trying to get the right one in. Will is shouting now, but Brian makes it into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He can see Will still heading towards him. The dogs are freaking out, barking and howling, streaking around and through Will's clumsy steps. Brian turns on the ignition. _Just need to get away from here…_

Brian has no precise motor control right now, so when he presses the pedal to reverse, the wheels shriek and he almost hits a tree trying to turn around. Somehow he manages to get onto the dirt road leading away, and the lights of the house fade as he creeps down the road in stuttering starts and stops.

When he thinks he’s far enough away, Brian jerks the car into the treeline, onto a patch of dirt, and parks. He’s not stupid enough to try driving all the way home in this condition. He turns off the engine, and then lets out a pained yell, banging his head back against the headrest. The tears are flowing freely now, streaking down his face. _I spend so much fucking time crying nowadays,_ Brian thinks. _Especially in my car. Maybe I should get a bus pass._

That’s not going to help, though. The car isn’t the problem. The problem is that his life is in tatters, and any attempts to fix it just seem to shred it further. How does Hannibal continue to ruin things from thousands of miles away? Why is Graham so deluded-

A sickening thought makes Brian’s stomach curdle. _What if he just wants to know where Lecter is so he can run off with him?_ Will’s agreement to work with Brian could just be a ruse. Will could be pointing Brian in the wrong direction, while he secretly pieces the evidence together.

Brian used to be able to run this sort of thing by Jimmy, but that’s all fucked up too. _You’re an asshole, Price_ , Brian thinks, kicking the door with his foot. _You left me alone… Bev at least has a good excuse._

He can’t keep doing this. Can’t work with a man who’s in love with their own suspect. Can’t pass Jimmy in the halls every day, saying nothing to each other, everything between them forgotten. He isn’t built for this level of fuckery.

Brian crawls into the back seat and curls up. He’ll sleep here tonight, and tomorrow, when Jack calls, he’ll tell him that he won’t work with Graham anymore. Then maybe he’ll put in for a transfer at work. Go somewhere new. Forget this life.

It’s better for everyone that way.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like making Zeller cry. I don't know why. I'm a terrible person >___>
> 
> Comments and fair criticism always welcome, wicked readers!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're a little late today due to unforeseen circumstances today, sorry about that! As I promised certain people on Twitter, you get some happy feels in this chapter :D

 

 

Will has the worst headache imaginable. It pounds like a drum against his skull, making any coherent thought impossible. He hasn’t felt the need to throw up this badly since he’d heard what had been done to Margot and his unborn child. That was a bad day in a string of bad days; a string that hasn’t really ended.

He remembers Brian running out last night, getting into his car and streaking off. Will is tempted to text him, give him a call, make sure he’s still alive. Surely Zeller wouldn’t be that stupid…? He might not pick up, though. Not after what Will told him last night.

_He can’t understand… doesn’t know what it’s like to find someone who finally sees you for what you are. Who doesn’t try to change you, or make you better, or ‘normal.’ Just accepts you. Welcomes your demons as gladly as the angels of your better nature._

The dogs have been whining to go out all morning, and Will finally works up the energy to get off the couch. He’s using the hair of the dog to ease his hangover; the bottle of Glengoolie is fisted in his hand as he steps out onto the porch. He sits on the steps, and frowns when he sees the drying vomit patch next to the bottom step. The dogs are sniffing at it; he whistles them away, and they listen, running off to do their business.

He’s leaning against the railing, dozing off, when he hears the sound of a car driving up the path. _Brian must’ve come back to have another go at me_ , Will thinks. But when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t recognize the car coming up the road. It’s only when the driver pops out of the car that Will recognizes who’s come to see him.

Jimmy steps out of the car, eyes bright and on the wrong side of dangerous. He slams the car door shut and strides over, stopping a few feet away from Will and putting his clenched hands on his hips.

_“What did you do to him?”_ Jimmy barks.

Will snorts and tosses back another drag of the bottle. “No idea what you mean,” he mumbles after he swallows.

“I got a call an hour ago from Jack,” Jimmy continues. “He called Brian this morning to check in on whatever _ludicrous_ thing you two are doing together. Apparently Brian told him that he won’t come back here. So Jack called me.”

“Do either of you ever get tired of being Jack’s lackeys?” Will is on the wrong side of hungover, not caring enough to be gentle. He drinks and ignores Jimmy, watching the dogs. “If I whistle, the dogs will come. I bet Jack has perfected that with you.”

“I’m not here to be your punching bag, Will.” There’s a twitch to Jimmy’s eyebrow, and he’s tapping his foot, one of the anxious tics Will has noticed he has. “What happened?”

Will shrugs, leaning back against the railing. “A disagreement. I’m glad he’s still alive; he left here very inebriated.”

“Is this a game to you? Do you think dragging him back through his trauma on some half-assed effort to find Dr. Lecter is good for either of you? I can’t believe this is what Jack wanted us to do, I can’t believe you-”

“You’re going to lose him,” Will says suddenly interrupting him. “You know that, right?”

Jimmy opens his mouth, then closes it. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and glances away.

“He’s not going to wait around forever.” Will puts the bottle down on the porch and threads his fingers together behind his head. “One day you’re going to look for him and he’ll be gone.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

“No, it’s not.”

Jimmy looks back at him, frowning, eyebrows knit together. “How would _you_ know?”

“Because I _know_ ,” Will says, giving him a pointed look. “I knew five minutes after meeting the both of you. Psychopaths aren’t the only people I can read, Jimmy Price.” Jimmy’s face colors a lovely shade of scarlet, and Will just laughs. “You’re lucky he’s not so observant.”

“You don’t always read people correctly,” Jimmy says after a long pause.

“I do when it’s that obvious.” Will stands up, picking up the bottle and taking a nice long swig. “Tell Jack that I won’t work with anyone but Zeller. And tell Zeller he can’t hold his liquor for shit.” He turns and whistles for the dogs. They come running, and he herds them all inside and shuts the door, not bothering to look back at Price.

Will hears the sound of a car pulling away a few minutes later. He finishes the bottle, and stares at the corkboard, wondering if the pieces will ever fit together.

 

~

 

Brian is sulking, and he fully embraces the petulant feeling. Jack keeps ringing his cell, texting him, and leaving him voicemails all weekend. Brian hasn’t checked any of them, and Jack isn’t allowed in the BAU building currently, so work is actually a respite come Monday morning. He locks himself in his office all day, takes no calls, and spends hours distracting himself with mindless paperwork.

When his eyes can’t focus on the pages anymore, he looks at the clock and decides that six pm is check out time. He gathers his things, but when he gets to the carport, he doesn’t feel like going home. So he drives to one of the local bars, a low key place that plays Sinatra and Nina Simone on Monday nights, and the patrons wear expensive shirts and pressed slacks. He’s not the only office worker drowning his sorrows this evening, though he’s likely got the most interesting job here.

Brian sits down at the bar and orders a beer, nursing it as he listens to drunken patrons butcher “New York, New York” when it comes on over the speakers. If he wasn’t already in a bad mood, he is now…Then “I Did It My Way” starts playing, and Brian downs the beer quickly, praying that a raised alcohol level will make this a less painful evening, at least from an auditory perspective.

He’s working on the last few sips when someone nudges his shoulder. He turns his head and almost falls off the stool when he sees who it is.

“Mind if I sit?” Jimmy asks, smiling at him with a relaxed expression.

“Uhh…” It takes Brian’s brain a few seconds to catch up. “Yeah, sure.” Jimmy takes the seat and motions for the bartender.

“Let me buy you a drink. You want another Stella?”

“Sure…”

Jimmy waves the bartender over. “Stella and a cranberry juice, please.” When the bartender walks away, Jimmy folds his hands on the bar, looking back at Brian. “You talked to Jack lately?”

Brian frowns. “He called you, didn’t he.”

“He might have,” Jimmy admits. “Said you and Graham had a falling out.”

The drinks come, and Brian takes a long swallow. His chest is twisting into knots. _Why now, why do you resume talking to me now?_ “Will is insane,” Brian says. “Said he wanted to go with Lecter when he escaped.”

“Oh boy… well, it  may be a good thing that you don’t want to work with him anymore,” Jimmy says. His smile hasn’t changed since he sat down, much too cheery for someone who’s ignored Brian since May. “I don’t understand why you agreed to it in the first place. Since when are you friends with Will Graham?”

_Since you stopped being mine_ , Brian thinks. The beer sours in his mouth, and he places the bottle back down, a white hot fury surging through his chest. “You know what? Keep your damn beer,” he says, swinging off the stool. He walks out without looking back.

There’s a light drizzle coming down when Brian walks outside. The bar was pretty full when he got here, so he has to walk to the end of the parking lot to find his car. He yanks open the door and gets in, slamming it behind him. He puts his hands on the wheel, but he’s too pissed off to drive right now. Instead he slumps back against the seat and listens to the rain patter against his roof.

The passenger’s side door opens without warning. “Hey, what-” Brian starts to say, but he shuts up when Jimmy slides into the car and closes the door. Brian gapes at him, amazed by his audacity.

Jimmy folds his hands in his lap and looks down at them. “Go ahead,” he says.

“Go ahead what?”

“Yell at me, call me a dick, get it all out of your system.” Jimmy shrugs. “Better to do it here than the bar.”

Brian looks back at the dash in front of him, and at first he’s unable to say anything. He’s too shocked at Jimmy’s audacity. Does the man expect to just waltz back into Brian’s life with that little ease? Something inside of Brian snaps.

“ _Four fucking months!_ ” Brian slams his hands on the steering wheel, and Jimmy jumps. “Nothing from you for four fucking months, and it takes Jack calling you to get to you to speak to me again?!”

“It wasn’t-”

“ _Shut up!_ ” He slams his hands on the wheel again. “You don’t get to talk until I’m done. And that’s if I decide that I want to hear what you have to say!”

Jimmy nods, eyes still focused on his hands. Brian is ready to keep screaming his head off, but Jimmy has the good notion to actually look ashamed. All of Brian’s anger deflates. He sags back against the seat, suddenly exhausted.

“I don’t understand it,” Brian says. “I don’t understand why, I don’t understand what you were hoping to accomplish. I thought you just needed time at first… but four months? Were you ever planning on talking to me again?” He looks over. “You can answer that.”

“Maybe,” Jimmy says, fidgeting in his seat.

“ _Maybe?_ ” Brian says incredulously. “Not _‘of course, Brian, I wasn’t planning on abandoning you forever. What sort of horrible friend do you think I am?_ ’ I get a maybe?!”

“Any explanation I give you won’t make sense,” Jimmy says, finally looking up at him. “Can’t we just say I was acting like an idiot and leave it at that?”

Brian shakes his head. “No. No way in hell. I _needed_ you, Jim.” Jimmy flinches at that. “I needed you and you abandoned me. You don’t get to say it’s water under the bridge without a real explanation!”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Brian closes his eyes and listens to the rain. He remembers the rain on his skin back in May, soaking him to the bone, washing away the bloodstain splattered on the pavement in front of the house. There was a distinct out of body feeling that night, a denial that this could be happening, that this wasn’t just a nightmare.

The rain was surprisingly cold for May. Jimmy’s hand on Brian’s shoulder was warm and grounding.

“I wanted to move on.” Jimmy’s hushed voice is soaked in a quiet pain. He rubs his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I wanted us both to be able to move on. This wasn’t our fight, we just got caught in the crossfire.”

“So how would pushing me away help us?” Brian asks.

“We can’t move on here. If we stay at the BAU, Hannibal Lecter’s shadow will always follow us.”

“But what does that have to do with us?”

“We are each other’s link to this whole thing.” Jimmy gestures slowly back and forth between them. “Think about it. If you moved away, would you honestly still keep in touch with Will? Or Jack? Or anyone else at the BAU?”

“No…”

“What about me?”

“I-” Brian pauses. “Of course I would.”

Jimmy looks away, staring out into the rain, and exhales slowly. “Then there’s no way to make a clean break unless you and I also make one.”

It takes Brian a moment, but he realizes what Jimmy is trying to say. “So… we can never really move on if we have any attachments… that’s what you mean?”

Jimmy nods. “This case will forever taint our friendship. It took away someone we both loved, and it destroyed our professional and personal lives. After Bev… after she was… gone, I’d have moments at work where I’d look over, expecting to see both of you, and you’d be the only one standing there. I dream about her dying, Brian. But I also dream about _you_ dying.”

“You think that isn’t a problem for me?” Brian asks, his voice bleeding away into a hoarse whisper. “You think I don’t worry about him taking you like he took Bev? For fuck’s sake, Jim… do you really think that’s going to change if you walk away?”

“I thought it would,” Jimmy murmurs. “I thought if I just gave it enough time…”

“There isn’t enough time in the history of the universe for that to change.” Brian lifts his hand, hesitates, and reaches over, resting it on Jimmy’s shoulder. “You could move to China and I’d still worry about you.”

Jimmy swallows hard, then lifts his own hand and rests it over Brian’s. “I know. I’m sorry. I haven’t been thinking clearly the last few months. You know I tend to isolate when something bad happens.”

“Yeah, well, usually it’s easier to get you out of your shell. You’re more of a hermit crab than a box turtle.” Jimmy’s mouth flickers with a hint of a real smile, and Brian smiles back. “Were you really going to ignore me until one of us left the BAU?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “I think I might’ve lasted another month… maybe. You should actually thank Will Graham. I went to see him. He managed to talk some sense for once.”

“Miracle of miracles,” Brian says. “Do me a favor? If you ever feel like implementing another stupid idea, talk to me first?”

“I will. So what _are_ you going to do about Graham?”

Brian sighs. “I don’t know.” He knows he’s still got his hand on Jim’s shoulder, but it’s so nice to touch him again after four months (that still sounds really creepy... damn it) that he doesn’t want to let go. Not yet, anyway. “We’ve still got Lecter’s trail. Will is good, but he needs someone to work with, bounce ideas off of. He chases his own tail if he’s left alone. But I don’t know if I can handle just me and him anymore. The liver damage alone will kill us eventually.”

“Do you want help?” Jimmy asks. Brian shoots him a quizzical look. “None of us can move on without a resolution, it seems. I’m not a fan of what Jack is asking you to do, but if my being there helps catch Dr. Lecter more quickly, then I’m in.”

“Good. You may have to keep me from punching Will, though.”

Jimmy grins. “Oh sweetie, I’ve kept you from punching a lot of people over the years. I’m quite adept at it.”

Brian laughs. It feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. Jim’s hand over his is warm and grounding. For the first time in months, he feels genuinely happy.

 

~

 

“No.”

“We're a package deal now, Will,” Brian says, folding his arms. “Price jumps on the crazy train with you and me -- or your information source dries up.” Jimmy is next to him, shoulder to shoulder, as Will leans out of the front door of his house and glowers at them.

“I’ll do just fine without you,” Will says.

“Do you really want to take that chance?” Jimmy asks.

Will stares for a moment, then steps back into the house and holds the screen door open for them. When they walk inside, Jimmy immediately goes over to the corkboard and stands in front of it.

“This is an utter mess,” Jimmy says, clucking his tongue behind his front teeth and shaking his head disapprovingly as he pulls push pins out of the board, rearranging papers and photos.Will opens his mouth, but Brian taps him on the shoulder and shakes his head.

“Let him. Organization is one of his good traits. Usually.”

“I heard that, Zee.”

“I intended you to, Price,” Brian says, winking at Will. The other man raises his eyebrow a bit but says nothing, leaning against the armchair behind him.

Brian is feeling miles better since his conversation with Jimmy last night. He hadn’t realized how many words had been bottled up inside of him until he had someone to share them with again. It’s not like Will is the chattiest guy in the world. Brian had already sent Jimmy about a dozen text messages this morning before Jimmy swung by to pick him up. Mostly inane thoughts or questions that he’d been wanting to ask Jimmy for months.

“You know I just saw you about… eight hours ago,” Jimmy had said when Brian had gotten in the car. “You can’t have four months of conversations with me in eight hours.” But there was a smile on his face when he said it.

Now Brian watches Jimmy rearrange the papers, adjust the red connecting strings, straighten the photographs. “The last place he was seen was Belgium,” Will says. “We haven’t had a sighting in almost two weeks.”

“It looks like he’s taking a continental tour,” Jimmy says, stepping back and folding his arms. “Paris, Vienna, Madrid… almost like he’s flaunting  our inability to track him down.”

“Dr. DuMaurier hasn’t been seen in a month,” Brian points out. “Last spotted in…” He picks up a folder off the coffee table and flips it open. “... Denmark.”

“Isn’t Dr. Lecter from Denmark?” Jimmy asks. “I swear, I heard Jack say that one time.”

“He isn’t, but it makes sense that you think he is.” Will points to a newspaper clipping on the board. “An article on promising young doctoral students coming over from Europe. It’s from the mid-nineties, when he was at John Hopkins. Hannibal’s mentioned in the third paragraph. Read where it says he’s from.”

Jimmy leans down to get a good look at the clipping. “Denmark,” he says. “Specifically, Copenhagen.”

“Right,” Brian says. “But look at the clipping below. It’s an interview from 2002, Baltimore Sun. He’d just accepted an award from the APA.”

“Now it says he’s from Lithuania,” Jimmy reads. “So which one is correct?”

“The second one,” Will says. “But the ambivalence helps confuse anyone who might want to look into his past. He’s spent years doing this, manipulating records of his background.”

“Harder to get a complete profile on him means harder to track when he disappears.” Brian steps up next to Jimmy, leaning down to examine the same news clipping. It’s splattered with droplets of dried liquid, and a knot twists in his stomach as he remembers throwing the glass.

“This is all very impressive, but it seems to be getting you nowhere,” Jimmy says, straightening up. “You’re getting third-hand information and piecing together half-true biographical records.”

“We’re still doing better than Prurnell,” Brian grumbles.

Jimmy shakes his head. “Better isn’t good enough. We need to find a different tactic…”

Will stands up suddenly and leaves the room. Jimmy glances at Brian, who shrugs. But he’s not gone for long, he comes back clutching a laptop, and turns it around for them to see.

“When you’re trying to catch a fish, you don’t try to outswim them down river,” Will says. “You set a tasty bait and let them come to you.”

Splashed across the screen in black letters: PSYCHO CANNIBAL STILL ON THE RUN; FBI EFFORTS FAIL TO FIND DR LECTER. The author’s familiar name is written on a blood red background.

“Oh _no_ ,” Brian groans.

“Oh, yes,” Jimmy says, mouth curving into a grin. “She’ll finally be useful to someone.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far! Comments and fair criticism always welcome, sexy readers!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter breaks my longest fanfic written record. Yay!

 

 

Of course they send Brian to do the dirty work. “Freddie Lounds is a shark,” Jimmy tells him. “And Will Graham is a bucket of blood. You don’t want to be in the water with the both of them when they meet.”

“So what am I, a gentle suckerfish?”

“She’d know more about that than I would,” Jimmy says, and Brian scowls and leaves before he can get any redder.

_He doesn’t have to rub it in,_ Brian thinks as he drives to the designated meeting spot. _Like he’s never regretted a one-night stand before._ Freddie was a mistake. A very, _very_ talented mistake. But a mistake nonetheless.

There had been something in Jimmy’s expression when he said it, a sadness that seemed too deep for something that had happened two years ago. Brian knows it wasn’t his finest moment, but is Jimmy still that disappointed in him?

Brian doesn’t want to be seen at the Tattle Crime offices, so he asks Freddie to meet him in a nearby park. He’s sitting on a bench, admiring the natural beauty and enjoying the breeze when he spots a head of bright red hair coming towards him.

Freddie sidles up, licking an ice cream cone (vanilla by the looks of it) and takes a seat next to him. “This seems unnecessarily secretive, Agent Zeller. Unless you’re up to some trouble again?” He can see her smirk out of the corner of his eye.

“You could say that.” Brian rests his arms over the back of the bench and tries to think of where to begin. “I’m in need of your particular brand of expertise. Specifically your ability to piss certain psychopathic cannibals off.”

“The Lecter case? I was under the assumption you were no longer working on that after what happened in May.” Brian says nothing, and Freddie’s smile widens. “Oh, _now_ this makes sense. You aren’t supposed to be working on this, are you?”

“Has that ever stopped you before?”

“No. I just find it fascinating. Well then… what am I getting out of all of this?”

“Pageviews? Isn’t that what you always want?”

“The last time I had an encounter with Dr. Lecter, I had to go into hiding, and you had to autopsy my fake corpse. Twice.”

“What’s your point?”

Freddie gives him a look that says he’s being obtuse. “My _point_ is that I’d prefer to avoid another scenario like that. Living in Will Graham’s shed for a month wasn’t exactly paradise on earth.”

“This wouldn’t be anything to put you in danger,” Brian says. “Will would be the one taking the most risk. C’mon, Freddie. I’m actually offering you a lead this time as opposed to you seducing me for one.”

“Hmm… since we’re being open with each other, would you prefer the same exchange as last time? This time with your full knowledge that it’s taking place, of course.” Freddie takes a long lick of the cone, swirling her tongue in a manner that’s obscene, her gaze focused on him the whole time. “You seemed somewhat angry when you realized you’d been played.”

Brian swallows hard and looks away. “Did you even enjoy doing that? Or was it just for the story?”

“You weren’t terrible, I’ll admit. One of my better male partners in bed.”

Brian snorts. “What a confidence booster. What’s that, out of several dozen other competitors? Tattle Crime blog posts littered with your past conquests?”

Freddie smiles and shakes her head. “You didn’t seem to care about my sexual history when you thought I was attracted to you. It only started to matter after you found out that you didn’t rate that highly. Should we discuss your sexual history in detail and discover whether your motivations were completely altruistic every time?”

Brian sighs and scrubs his face with his hand. “Fine, I get your point. But no, I don’t want that. The condition this time is that you keep my name and Jimmy’s name out of this.”

“I should have guessed that Agent Price was working with you on this. Yes, I can handle that.” Freddie goes quiet for a moment, Brian flinches when she lays her hand over his. “I’m sorry about Agent Katz, you know. She didn’t deserve that. No one should have to lose a friend that way.”

Brian jerks his hand away and stands up, eyes focused on a distant point.. “Come by to Graham’s house this Friday. We’ll explain everything there.” He walks away, back to her, wiping his eyes and hoping she doesn’t notice. Even though she will. That’s just her job, and she’s very good at it.

 

~

  


Three thirty in the morning and Brian rouses from sleep to hear his cell phone buzzing angrily on his side table. He fumbles for it and doesn’t even bother to check who is calling. There’s only two or three people who would bother him at this hour. He presses the call button and yawns a “Hello?” into the phone.

_“FREDDIE LOUNDS?”_

Brian almost bangs his head on the headboard, he sits up so fast. “For fuck’s sake, Jack, could you try not blowing my eardrums out?”

“If it wasn’t past midnight I’d be over there making you permanently deaf, Zeller. You decided going to _Lounds_ was a great idea?”

“Did she post something already?” Brian yawns and slides out from under the sheets. It’s late October, and he hasn’t bothered to turn on the heat yet, so he slips a shirt on to ward off the chill and pads out to the living room.

“You mean part one of her apparently five part exposé on Will Graham’s current mental state? Wherein she posts _actual quotes_ he gave her?”

“Yep, that.”

“Zeller…” There’s a dangerous tone to Jack’s voice, a deep vibrato that’s made Brian nearly pee his pants in the past. But that was before everything with Hannibal. Brian doesn’t even blink now. Too desensitized to it.

“Crawford,” Brian says, with no hint of sarcasm. He’s getting tired of playing messenger between Will and Jack. The latter one claims that the former one refuses to communicate, but Will’s never been particularly communicative to anyone. Brian gets the feeling that Jack’s staying away for his own reasons. Reasons that are starting to become a pain in the ass.

“I didn’t just send you to Graham to get drunk and jerk his ego off,” Jack says. “I sent you there to make sure no one takes advantage of him again. Least of all, you or me.”

That makes Brian pause. “You know Will came up with the idea himself? He knows that Hannibal still wants to know what he’s up to. Using Freddie means that Lecter won’t know where the truth ends and Freddie’s exaggeration begins. That means Hannibal can’t hole up somewhere in Antarctica with an internet connection. He’s going to have to keep in contact with someone on the outside world in order to get factual news about Will. And that someone is who we’re going to try and find.”

Jack is quiet for a long while, and Brian begins to wonder if he’s gotten so enraged that he popped a major blood vessel and passed out. But when he speaks again, his voice is calm and even. “And you and Price _both_ thought this was a good idea?”

“We’ve run out of good ideas, Jack. We’re moving on to mediocre ones.”

“You should’ve at least run this by me first,” Jack sighs. “Given me a heads up.”

“Any time you want to come to Wolf Trap and give us a hand, you’re welcome to.” There’s a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and one empty glass sitting on the coffee table. Brian scoops them up and takes them into the kitchen. “But this isn’t the BAU. We aren’t beholden to any higher authorities for protocol. There isn’t a chain of command.” Translation: _You’re not the boss here._

“I’m still part of this team, so I’d appreciate being kept informed of what said team is doing.”

“Fine. Is there any other reason this couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour?”

“Go get your beauty sleep, Zeller.”

Brian hangs up and opens the web browser on his phone. He pulls up Tattle Crime, and finds that Freddie’s article went up half an hour ago. No wonder Jack called him now. The man probably has a text alert set up anytime something new gets posted on the site.

Brian skims the article, looking for his name or Jimmy’s. Neither of them show up. Good. Lounds kept her word for once. He’ll read the rest later. Time to go back to bed.

But he can’t get back to sleep. He twists and turns for a while, finally giving up on the affair and opening his laptop to go over the Lecter files he’s read a thousand times in the past. Paris, Madrid, Vienna… That’s all Brian can think about nowadays. He should just cancel his Netflix account for all the good it does him. He’s coming up with new ideas and hypotheses for Hannibal’s movements while he’s supposed to be browsing cold case files at work. Whenever Jimmy comes over for takeout or a movie, their conversations inevitably turn to the case.

_Obsession,_ Brian thinks, running a hand through his hair. _Starting to understand why Graham is the way he is. Normal things don’t seem so important when all you can think about is murder and death._ What an ironic statement for a coroner.

Looks like another night of insomnia awaits him. Might as well make some coffee.

 

~

 

Jimmy invested in heated leather seats when he bought his car, and he should've known better. Brian's ability to fall asleep anywhere was legendary. Heated seats make for extra nice sleeping during the winter, so when they carpool up to Will's house, Brian whines and moans and promises to pay for gas until Jimmy gives up and drives. Five minutes flat once they hit the road, and Brian is already snoring.

It’s even easier tonight, spurred on by several shots of whiskey; the strain of a particularly grueling evening at Will’s house dragging his eyelids closed. Their decision to use Freddie Lounds seems to have paid off; Jack ‘s contact at Interpol reported that someone who’d been in contact with Lecter only three days prior had been questioned by local authorities. They’re getting closer.

Soft music plays on the radio as Jimmy’s car sails smoothly down the road away from Wolf Trap. A slight bump startles Brian awake, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He can hear Jimmy humming along with the music, and Brian knows if he appears to be awake, Jimmy will stop. He refuses to sing when anyone is watching. Brian doesn’t know why; he’s got such a nice voice. A lilting soprano, soft and unwavering, even when he’s singing quietly. Every time they’d gone to karaoke, Jimmy would wave Brian and Beverly off, enjoying their wild antics on stage but never participating.

“ _And I wonder if I ever cross your mind… for me it happens all the time…_ ” Jimmy’s voice wavers a bit as he sings along. Brian peeks his eyes open, sees the wistful expression on his friend’s face, and suddenly he feels like he’s intruding on something very private. He closes his eyes again and pretends to slowly wake: stretches his arms and legs, cracks his neck. When he sits up, Jimmy gives him a cheery smile. “You sleep like the dead, Zeller.”

“You apparently listen to country music while I do,” Brian quips, yawning. “Do you have a pair of overalls and a cowboy hat hidden in the back of your closet? Do you want to trade this car in for a pickup truck and a bottle of moonshine?”

Jimmy snorts and turns off the radio. “They play that on all the pop stations. You’re just behind the times.”

“Alright, Grandpa.” Jimmy is twirling something between his fingers; it looks like a coin. “What’s that?”

Jimmy looks where Brian is pointing, and there’s a moment of hesitation; something flickers across his face. But then he holds the object out. “See for yourself.”

Brian takes the coin, which turns out to be a chip, all one color, with a raised triangle on the face whose tips touch the edge. In the center of the triangle is the number 3 with the word ‘month’ under it, and in curved letters around the edge reads ‘To Thine Own Self Be True.’ It takes him a moment, but when he realizes what it is, Brian almost drops it out of surprise.

“This is… an AA sobriety chip? Is…” He glances over, and Jimmy looks like he’s trying to keep a neutral expression. He’s failing miserably. “Jim… you weren’t lying that time? You really did start going?”

“No… I did lie before, when I wanted you to leave me alone. But I went for my first meeting in August,” Jimmy replies, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. “A little before I started talking to you again. It’s part of the reason I did. Start talking to you again, I mean. I waited until the worst of the withdrawal symptoms were over. Didn’t want those surfacing when we spoke.”

Brian had long ago accepted that this was one part of his friend’s life that wouldn’t change. Jimmy’s alcoholism had been an unspoken shadow that lurked in the background; a drunken phone call at 3 a.m. every other month, the holiday parties at Jimmy’s house where Brian and Beverly would drink more than they wanted to just so they knew it wouldn’t be available to Jimmy after they left. It was something they all managed together. Without Beverly, Brian had been terrified for months that Jimmy wouldn’t be able to carry on.

Things start clicking into place; things that only make sense now. Jimmy didn’t order anything alcoholic when he ambushed Brian at the bar. Will puts out three glasses for them every evening at Wolf Trap, but the the alcohol doesn’t disappear any faster since Jimmy joined them. Jimmy always seems to drive home too…

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Now Brian hears a waver in his own voice, and he quickly hands the chip back.

“Because I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure I wouldn’t relapse.” Jimmy glances over. “I didn’t want to disappoint you again.”

“I’d rather be disappointed than kept in the dark... Fuck, why am I giving you the third degree? Never mind. This is fantastic.” He gives Jimmy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Proud of you, man. I’d take you out for a drink to celebrate, but that kind of ruins the point.”

“Thanks, Zee.” Jimmy rolls his eyes, but grins all the same. The tension in the air clears, and Brian flicks the radio knob back on. The guitar twangs loudly as the singers croon their final duet.

“ _And I don't know how I can do without, I just need you now, I just need you now. Oh, baby, I need you now._ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and fair criticism always welcome, erudite readers!


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

“This is awkward.”

“Nothing awkward about it,” Jimmy says, searching through Brian’s fridge. “Stop hiding in the kitchen.”

“I’m making sure the turkey doesn’t overcook.” Brian folds his arms, oven mitts tucked under one elbow. “I need to be in here. Thanksgiving sucks without a good turkey.”

“You brined that bird for three days. If it dries out now, we’re taking it to the lab and dissecting it for science.” Jimmy backs out of the fridge with one beer and one iced tea. “I’ve been listening to Will talk about his dogs for half an hour. It’s the only thing I can think of to keep him occupied.”

Brian scowls. “You’re the one who invited him.” He pitches his voice up high in an imitation of Jimmy’s and flaps one hand like a mouth. “But Brian! We can’t leave Will all alone on the holidays! He doesn’t have anyone else!”

Jimmy scowls, then socks him on the arm, making him drop the oven mitts. Brian leans over to pick them up. “I know what it’s like to be alone during the holidays. _You’re_ the only one here who has a somewhat normal family.”

“And _I’m_ sacrificing my time with them today to be with you two sad sacks.” Jimmy shoots him a glare, and Brian holds his hands up. “Fine, fine, sorry. I’m just saying. You’re a sucker for a wounded animal, Price.” Jimmy mumbles something under his breath, but Brian lets it go.

“Just get out there,” Jimmy says in an audible voice. “He actually _likes_ you. I can never tell with me.”

“He’s not gonna like me very much in about twenty minutes.”

“That part of the plan was _your_ idea, Zeller.” Jimmy pries the gloves out of Brian’s hands and grasps his arm. “Come on. When he turns you into dog jerky, just remember I told you so.”

Brian grabs his soda off the counter as Jimmy drags him out of the safety of the kitchen into the living room. Will is perched on the edge of the couch, body drawn inwards, shoes still on, jacket as well… The man never looks comfortable, except in his own house.

“Take your damn coat off,” Brian says as Jimmy hands the beer over to Will. “I feel like you’re about to steal the bird out of the oven and run with it.”

“The dogs would enjoy the treat… I’m kidding, Brian.” Will slides the jacket off, and moves back a bit farther onto the couch. “Thank you for having me.”

Jimmy takes the armchair and Brian drops onto the other couch. Each man takes a sip of their drink. A very long sip. The sip of a person who has no idea what the fuck to talk about.

“So... “ Brian tries. “...I think Prurnell is on to something. She’s been cagey lately.” Jimmy shoots him a dirty look, they had agreed to no ‘shop talk’ for this dinner, but what the hell else are they supposed to talk about?

The doorbell rings, and Brian breathes a sigh of relief. _Oh thank god,_ he thinks. “There’s our other guest,” he says. He’d told Will that they were having one more person for dinner, though they hadn’t told him who their guest was.

Jimmy jumps up to get the door. He gives Brian a pointed look before disappearing down the hall. Will catches the motion, and he looks at Brian, raising an eyebrow. Brian specifically chooses to become fascinated by a smudge on the coffee table at this time.

There is soft murmuring in the hall after a moment, and Brian looks up to see Jimmy stepping back in. He moves aside to give their guest ample time to enter, walking slightly slower because of the cane.

“Hello, Brian. Hello, Will.” Alana Bloom stops just inside the living room, smiling warmly when she sees them. She’s wearing a deep red blouse and grey slacks, similar in color to the grey cane she leans on. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, as usual. Jimmy is hovering, probably in case she needs a supportive arm, but she seems perfectly comfortable standing.

Brian gets up and gives her a hug, making sure not to squeeze too tightly. “Glad you could make it. What would you like to-”

“You’re standing.” Everyone looks at Will, his eyes cast down at the bottle in his hands. “When did you get out of the chair?”

“A few weeks ago,” Alana says. “My physical therapist has been very insistent. I told him I wanted to be back in heels by Christmas. Almost there.”

“Let me get you a beer,” Jimmy says. He makes more motions with his eyes and eyebrows at Brian as he leaves the room. Apparently Brian is supposed to understand this coded body language, and not assume Jimmy is having a minor stroke.

Will scoots to the side as Alana sits on one end of the three-cushion couch, keeping a full cushion between them. Jimmy comes back with the beer, and he and Alana immediately launch into small talk, both the experts in the room at it. Brian interjects every so often, but Will stays quiet. It’s actually surprising to not hear him speak, considering the rapport they’ve built up over the last few months.

This had been Brian’s idea, partially altruistic and partially selfish. He knows Will and Alana had some sort of connection before, though he’s not sure exactly how far they’d taken it. He’s hoping that repairing their relationship could help them uncover new information about Lecter, awaken memories in either of them that would be useful. It’s just a side bonus that Alana might help Will not be such a cynical pissant all the damn time.

Brian had come up with the idea, but Jimmy had supplied the plan. Apparently he and Alana were better friends than Brian had realized. “Oh, we go out to lunch every month or so,” Jimmy had told him. “You aren’t the only friend I have, you know.”

Brian was going to say something to the effect of _: it certainly seems like I am,_ but he held his tongue and let Jimmy work his magic. And now Dr. Bloom is in his living room and Will hasn’t made some flimsy excuse to leave, like forgetting he left the oven on. So Brian considers this a success. So far. They haven’t gotten to dinner yet.

The timer goes off, and Brian goes to check on the turkey. He doesn’t see Jimmy step into the kitchen, and when Jimmy calls his name, it startles him. He ends up catching his finger on the inside of the oven door when he goes to close it.

“Shit!” Brian sticks his finger into his mouth, an unconscious reaction as he moves to the sink and turns on the faucet. The water cools the scalded, red skin.

“Let me see.” Jimmy’s come up next to him, grasping his palm with care as he looks at the finger. “Oh, it’s nothing. With the way you yelled, I thought it was serious.”

“Can you kiss my boo boo, Price? You’re the one who caused it.”

Jimmy rolls his eyes to the ceiling, but smiles a bit, lifts Brian’s hand, and presses his lips against the burn mark. “There. All better?”

Brian nods and pulls his hand away quickly,  with more force than he meant to use. His fingers are tingling, so he holds them under the faucet for a few moments. Jimmy leans against the counter, watching him.

“I wanted to give them some time alone,” Jimmy says. “Lord knows nothing will happen with me in there.”

“I’m not sure leaving them alone will help either. You know Graham. He’d probably think he still had too much company if he was the last man on Earth. There are deep sea invertebrate who’ve interacted more with other people than he has.”

“Do your reserves of hyperbole ever run dry, Zeller?” The corners of Jimmy’s eyes crinkle in amusement.

Brian chuckles and turns off the water, wiping his hands. “Do your reserves of unrelenting cheerfulness?”

“Eventually, yes. You of all people should know that.”

“Yeah, well… we seem to make it work.”

“We do.” Jimmy pulls the foil off of the green bean casserole on the counter. He looks back at Brian as he stirs it with a spoon. “I like how we work.”

There’s a particular intensity to his words. Brian feels a shiver run down his spine. He’s not sure why. He brushes aside the discomfort and smacks Jimmy’s shoulder gently as he passes. “Good. Don’t expect it to change for a while.”

Jimmy gets the table set up while Brian fusses over the turkey like a concerned parent. When he goes to announce dinner, Brian is pleased to see Alana and Will are talking. Or rather, Alana is asking him questions and Will isn’t not answering them. _Progress_ , Brian thinks.

Dinner is pleasantly talkative. Alana praises Brian’s cooking to such a degree that he wonders how terrible her actual family dinner must have been. They’re eating late purposefully because she was with them earlier. Jimmy spends about five minutes trying to cajole Will into eating his homemade cranberry sauce; he’s defeated by Will’s pronouncement that “the canned stuff just tastes better.” Brian gorges himself on mashed potatoes and makes a personal promise to run an extra five miles next week.

“That was lovely,” Alana says at the end of it. “I haven’t had such delicious cooking since…” She lets the thought trail, and all of them know where it leads to.

“I’m giving you a doggy bag for the actual doggies, Will,” Brian says to break the silence. “I’ll never finish the other fifteen pounds of turkey on that bird by myself.”

Jimmy snorts into his tea. “Yes, you’ll only finish fourteen pounds. And somehow not gain an ounce of fat.”

“I’m going to find you in my kitchen at three in the morning, eating cold stuffing out of the fridge,” Brian shoots back.

“You should be happy that I like your cooking enough to debase myself in that way.”

Brian laughs. “I’ve never known you to shrink from debasing yourself.”

Jimmy sips his tea, a coy smile on his face. “You’re usually the one causing me to.”

Will and Alana are giving them funny looks, so Brian jumps to his feet. “I’ve got pie. Needs to go in the oven.”

He sets the pies to warm, turning to see Jimmy and Will bustling into the kitchen, arms loaded with dishes. “The cook doesn’t clean,” Jimmy says, motioning towards the doorway. “Go put your feet up.”

Brian moseys out to the living room with beer in hand. Alana is standing in front of the double doors that lead out to the back deck. She glances back when he comes in and smiles.

“Thank you again for inviting me, Brian.”

“No problem.” He steps up beside her and looks out into the darkness. “Without you, it was me and Jim and Will, and it would’ve turned into just another work night.”

“How is everything going with that, by the way?” It would be an innocent question in any other group, but Brian can sense the grim undertones. The acknowledgement of the dire circumstances still surrounding them all.

“We’ve stalled a little,” Brian says. “Haven’t heard any new information this week, or last. Hopefully that won’t continue.”

“And if it does?”

“If it does… we’ll figure out a new tactic.”

“I’m worried about all of you,” Alana says, bracing both hands on the head of the cane. “Will especially. You and Jimmy know how to take care of each other. One of you will stop the other if it goes too far. Will doesn’t have that.”

“You’re right,” Brian says. “But you know as well as I do that he’ll just go off on his own if he thinks he’s getting shut out. Will has never listened to me about anything. Nothing important, anyway. I’m a tolerable colleague. You’re his conscience.” He glances at her to gauge her reaction, but her expression is unreadable.

She speaks after a minute. “If we’d listened to Will Graham in the first place, many things would be different.”

“Maybe. But he can’t give us anything to listen to if he can’t sort his thoughts properly. And he can’t do that unless he’s got someone to guide him.” Brian plays with the label of the bottle, forcing out the next words. “Doctor Lecter was good at it.”

“I won’t be Hannibal.”

“No one is asking you to.”

“You are. You’re asking me to manipulate Will in the same way Hannibal did. That’s the part that matters.”

“Alana-”

“No.” Her voice has an intimidating quality to it when she wants it to. He stops speaking immediately. She turns to look at him straight on, eyes clear and bright. “I’m sorry, Brian, but too many people have tried to bend Will to their own ends. Jack did it, Hannibal did it, Freddie Lounds did it, Frederick Chilton did it, and now…”

“Now you think Jim and I are doing it?” Her silence confirms it. Brian sighs and nods. “Maybe in a way, we are. I just know that none of us want to stop looking for Hannibal. I don’t think I could’ve convinced Will to help if he hadn’t wanted it.”

“I know. But I won’t be a part of it any more than I already have been. I want to move on, even if the rest of you don’t.”

Jimmy comes out to ask Brian to check on the pie, so that’s the end of his conversation with Alana. Dessert passes uneventfully, and when Alana mentions that her sister dropped her off, Will offers to drive her home.

Brian goes to get their coats from off his bed, and Will trails along behind him. “You should’ve told me she was coming,” Will says as he takes the coats.

Brian shrugs. “I wasn’t sure you’d agree to come if I had. But it was a little underhanded, yeah. Sorry.”

“Thank you… for inviting her, I mean. And for dinner. This was nice.”

“Is that… is that a smile?” Brian grins, nudging Will’s shoulder with his hand. “Oh my god it is! I didn’t think you were capable of a genuine smile.”

“Zeller…”

“I’m kidding, Will. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

After they leave, Brian puts away the last few dishes and comes out to find Jimmy sprawled on the couch, eyes closed.

“You asleep, Price?”

“About to be. What did Alana say when you talked to her?”

“No dice. Bump over.” He sits at the end of the couch as Jimmy pulls his knees up. “I think we’ve gotten everything from her that we can.”

“I wasn’t expecting much anyway. Will looked pretty satisfied though, especially when she accepted his offer to take her home. Oh, to be a fly on the wall during that drive.”

“I’m sure it will be an enthralling experience for both of them.” Brian slouches against the cushions, stretching his legs, happy to be off his feet.

“Admit it, Zeller.” Jimmy peeks an eye open, smirking. “You’re a big ol’ romantic at heart. You like seeing your friends happy.”

“Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my sterling reputation for being a cynical smartass.”

“Perish the thought.” Jimmy props his feet onto Brian’s lap and wiggles his toes. “Give my poor footsies a massage and I won’t reveal your secret.”

Brian snorts. “Blackmail, huh? If you tell everybody my deep, dark secret, I’ll tell everyone yours. I figured out what you’ve been hiding from me, Price.”

Jimmy looks a bit pale at that. He yanks his feet out of Brian’s lap, sitting up. “What… how…?”

“You think I’ve been blind this whole time? I figured it out ages ago.”

“Brian, I- I don’t-”

“You really need to delete your browser history at work, Jim. Or at least not leave your personal email signed in.”

“I can explain…”

“You can explain coin collecting? You nerd.” Brian smacks him gently on the knee. “And you call me a nerd!”

“Wha- oh! Oh, that.” Jimmy lets out a deep breath.

Brian frowns. “What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing... and I don’t think I would qualify that as an embarrassing secret. I have the fifty state coins framed on my office wall.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the only damn thing I could come up with. You’ve never been shy about admitting personal information.”

Jimmy smiles and lies back again. “Yeah, I tell you everything…”

“Get some rest,” Brian says, standing up and ruffling Jimmy’s hair as he walks past. “I left a sandwich in the fridge with turkey and all the fixings on it. For when you get up at 3am and attempt to make one while half-asleep.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Zee,” Jimmy mumbles, closing his eyes. “I know what I’m thankful for this year…”

Brian wants to ask him what that is, but he’s already drifted off.

 

~

 

There’s a knock on the door. “Agent Zeller, I need you right now.”

Brian looks up from the report he’s writing and almost falls out of his chair when he sees who it is. Kade Prurnell takes a seat in front of him and places a file folder on the desk.

“Interpol contacted us with information that they found found a body last week. They believe it might be the work of the Chesapeake Ripper. Since you and Agent Price worked the case previously, I’d like to see if you could confirm their suspicions.”

Brian picks up the file and flips it open. “Why do they think-” He answers his own question when he sees the photo on the top of the documents.

The body is male this time, and the horns impaled through different areas of the body, but this is a near exact copy of the Cassie Boyle crime scene. The victim is displayed in an open field, mounted on the antlers of a stag. Brian bets that when he gets further into the file, he’ll find that the victim’s lungs were removed.

_Hannibal never repeats his tableaus,_ Brian thinks, eyes scanning the photo. _There has to be a reason…  a message he’s trying to send… think, Brian. This was the first crime scene we all worked on together-_

_All of us, together. He knows we’re looking for him._

Brian can practically hear  Hannibal’s voice in his ear. “ _I see you…_ ”

“-look like anything useful there, Agent Zeller?” Prurnell startles him out of his thoughts.

“Um, I…” Brian hesitates, a plan forming in his mind. “I think I need to confer with Agent Price. Can I give this back to you later?”

“No, the file stays with me. He can come down here and take a look.” She folds her arms and sits back in the chair. “Go ahead and call him.”

Brian rings Jimmy on the office phone. Jimmy says he’ll come down. While they wait for the other man, Brian pretends to read the file, while sending a text with his cell phone hidden in his lap: _Need to distract her for 2 minutes._ Hopefully Jimmy left his cell in his lab coat today.

Jimmy appears in the doorway holding a stack of files. “Hey, before we do this, I’ve got a load of files with inconsistent autopsy dates, can you take a look, Agent Prurnell?” He steps forward, and suddenly the files are flying out of his hands, tumbling to the floor, papers scattering. “Shit!”

Prurnell sighs and gets up, squatting down to help sort the papers out. Jimmy gives Brian a pointed look, and goes to help her. While Prurnell’s back is turned, Brian snaps pictures on his phone of the crime scene photos and documents. By the time they’re finished picking everything up, his phone is tucked away in his pocket.

“Sorry about that,” Jimmy says. “I guess I’ll have to sort all of this out before you can take a look. But I can examine those photos now.” He takes the file from Brian and scans the pictures.

“Well?” Prurnell asks. “What do you both think?”

“Definitely Lecter,” Brian says.

“I agree,” Jimmy replies. “Not sure why he’s repeating crime scenes in Europe, but I doubt this is a copycat. It’s him.”

“Where was this taken?” Brian asks.

“Tuscany. The Italians are in an uproar. Thank you both for your help.” Prurnell takes the file back and exits swiftly.

When she’s out of earshot, Brian closes the door and grins at his partner. “You’re an evil genius. Thanks for covering.”

“Did you get what you needed?” Jimmy asks.

Brian pulls out his phone and shows Jimmy the dozen or so pictures he snapped. Some are blurry, but a few are quite clear. “Graham gets to work his voodoo again. He’ll be ecstatic. Or as ecstatic as he can get.”

Jimmy purses his lips, frowning. “Get those off your phone ASAP. This is the first time we’ve actually taken confidential files from work. Hopefully it’s worth it.”

“Relax. Prurnell has got bigger things to worry about. If she’s coming to us, she’s desperate.”

“Don’t get cocky, Zee... Anyway, what did you think of that crime scene?”

Brian relays his idea about the message Hannibal is sending them. “It doesn’t make sense any other way. That scene was laid out for you and me and Will and Jack. Lecter’s got eyes on us.”

“Unsurprising. The bastard did like holding as many strings as possible... You think we’re in danger?”

“We’ve been in danger since we met Hannibal Lecter. So no more than usual.”

Jimmy raises an eyebrow. “I love how you can laugh off the fact that a cannibalistic sociopath might want to murder us.”

“Do you want to stop looking for him?” Brian asks.

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

“Then nothing changes for the moment,” Jimmy says. “Hopefully, sending this message was a mistake on Lecter’s part. Maybe Graham can get something useful out of it.”

When they show Will printed copies of the photos on Friday, he spreads them out on the coffee table and spends a long time looking at them, saying nothing. Brian imagines that it’s harder to piece things together for Will when he can’t go to the crime scene. Even harder when the images are filtered through Brian’s shitty 8 megapixel phone camera.

“It’s a warning,” Will finally says. “To us.”

“We kind of figured that out, Graham” Brian says. “Got anything that’s useful?”

“Did you look at the list of removed body parts?” Will asks, sorting through the papers. “Here. A pair of lungs, one ear... and one kidney.”

“He’s taunting us.” Jimmy curses and slaps his palm on the table. “Bella has lung cancer, Abigail Hobbs lost an ear, and Bev...” The rest goes unsaid.

“Reminding us of things he did to the people we loved,” Brian mutters. “Mocking our inability to find him. This was a brazen move.”

“This won’t give us any more help,” Will says, gathering the papers up. “He was meticulously careful, and without seeing the crime scene for myself, I can’t pick out any details.”

Brian sighs. “Well, I tried. So much for stealing classified FBI files. If I get caught I’m gonna be pissed that it was for nothing.”

“I did make some progress this week,” Will says. “Hannibal had an aunt, Lady Murasaki. Don’t know her first name, but I’m pretty sure she’s still alive. I think I’ve narrowed down her location. I’ll try to contact her, see if she knows anything.”

“You think she’ll really tell you anything?” Jimmy asks.

Will shrugs. “It can’t hurt to try. Maybe he took someone from her like he took someone from us.”

The trail is getting as cold as the air outside, frosting over in anticipation of the winter months. Hopefully, spring comes soon.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and fair criticism always welcome, angelic readers!


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

_“City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style. In the air there’s a feeling of Christmas…”_

“You want some eggnog, Price? Alcohol-free, of course.”

Jimmy takes the glass of frothing drink from Brian’s hand, sucking on the end of a candy cane as he sprawls on Brian’s couch. “Don’t mind if I do.” He takes a sip, frowning. “Well. That’s certainly different without brandy added.”

Brian drops into the armchair beside Jimmy, warming his hands with a mug of hot cocoa. “Yes, now you can actually taste something besides booze. Oh, by the way, did you have to buy me the biggest fucking menorah you could find in New York City?”

“You let me put a six foot fir tree with garland and twinkling lights up in your living room,” Jimmy says. “I didn’t want it to take all the glamour. Besides, when your mother visits she’ll be delighted.”

“She’s been trying to get me to go back to temple for years. Don’t encourage her.”

“Happy Hanukkah, Zeller.” Jimmy raises his glass.

Brian clinks his mug against it. “Merry Christmas, Price. Well, Christmas Eve.”

“Close enough.”

The remains of dinner are soaking in the kitchen sink. Cookie crumbs trail into the living room, and a slice of red velvet cake with green-colored icing rests on the coffee table. The sound system is playing a holiday mix, and a light drizzle patters softly against the windows. The heat is turned up to make the house toasty warm, and Brian yawns, comfort leading towards sleepiness.

“Another year gone by,” Jimmy says, swirling the egg nog. “Chance for a fresh start.”

“You’re already four months into your fresh start, Jim. Teetotaling does you good.”

Jimmy stops swirling the glass and eyes him. “Don’t ruin the moment, Brian.”

“I don’t know about that anyway, Jim,” Brian says, watching the marshmallows melt into his hot chocolate. “A fresh start, I mean. We’ve got too much baggage we’re bringing into the new year. Things we haven’t resolved.”

“Yeah, well… we’ve still got a few days. Maybe there are some things that will resolve themselves before then.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

Jim opens his mouth, but Brian doesn’t hear the words, because the next track on his mix has started playing, and it instantly catches his attention.

_“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need… I don’t care about the presents, underneath the Christmas tree…”_

Brian’s heart speeds up, his throat goes dry. _Adrenaline rush, response to a stressor,_ he thinks. His eyes start burning, and he practically jumps out of the chair, almost knocking the mug off where it rests on the arm.

“- right back- give me a...” Brian thinks he said something coherent as he strides down the hall, but his head is spinning, and when he gets to the bedroom he sits on the edge of the bed and tries to catch his breath. He can feel moisture on his cheeks, and he rubs his face, frustrated that a damn provoked such a strong reaction.

The music stops, and footsteps pad down the hall. “Zee?” Jimmy nudges the door ajar, stepping in. “You okay?”

“It was her favorite Christmas song,” Brian says, knuckles gripping the sheets as he struggles to level out his breathing. “Do you remember? She sang it every year at the holiday party.” He sniffs, wiping his eyes, his voice cracking. “She had a great voice. _I miss it so damn much…_ ”

Brian feels the mattress dip under Jimmy’s weight, his warm arms coming up to wrap around Brian’s shaking shoulders. He lets Jimmy pull him close, lets the other man hold him up as he breaks down.

“I’m sorry, _I’m sorry…_ ” Brian mumbles over and over. He’s sorry for ruining their night, sorry for dragging Jimmy back into the madness of Hannibal Lecter, sorry for fucking Freddie Lounds. He’s sorry that Beverly is gone, and sorry that he’s partly to blame. And now Brian is sorry for sobbing all over Jimmy’s shirt and probably ruining it.

“Zeller… Brian. Look at me, please,” Jimmy says. Brian lifts his head, wipes his eyes. He must look pathetic, but Jimmy looks at him with kind eyes and a soft smile that’s heartbreaking in its sincerity.

“I’m sorry,” Brian repeats.

Jimmy leans in and kisses him.

_Well, that wasn’t what I expected to happen_ , Brian thinks.

Jimmy’s mouth tastes like candy canes, his breath tinged with egg-nog. Brian’s lips tingle and he goes slack, not fighting it… enjoying it, actually. Jimmy is really good at this… he draws Brian’s lower lip between his teeth and nips, and Brian hears himself let out a pleased moan.

“I’m not sorry for that,” Jimmy says when he pulls back.

“Jim…”

“Hush.” Jimmy peppers his lips with more kisses. Brian shivers and finds himself drawn into them, relishing every kiss a bit longer than the one before. “Want to help you, Zee…”

“Help me how…?” Jimmy gives him a look, unmistakable in its intentions. Brian swallows hard as the nerves in his stomach bloom. “Oh…”

“Please, can I?” Jimmy’s hand comes up to rest against Brian’s cheek. It’s warm, undeniably comforting. “Let me help you.”

It takes a few moments for Brian to contemplate what this will change. _Everything,_ he thinks. _This will change everything._ But then, slowly, he nods his head.

Jimmy presses Brian back onto the mattress and straddles his hips, then skims his fingers up Brian’s arms. A tingling fire trails in their wake, and Brian shivers at the touch. He watches Jimmy’s hands, the delicate movements Jimmy uses to pull fingerprints off of objects transferred to Brian’s body. His fingers continue upwards, tracing Brian’s jawline, then his earlobe, and finally sliding into Brian’s hair. Brian is glad he hasn't bothered to cut his hair in months when Jimmy grips his curls and tugs his head back, a bit rough and possessively, before leaning in for another kiss. Jimmy’s talented lips and tongue insistently part Brian's lips, and Brian yields willingly

Brian shudders, neurons firing in rapid succession, hands coming up to bunch into Jimmy’s shirt. Perhaps in response, Jimmy rolls his hips downwards. Brian gasps as the weight of Jimmy’s desire is made clear, figuratively and literally. He’s surprised by the intensity of this, never imagined Jimmy as an aggressive lover. Maybe he takes his aggression out in the bedroom. Or maybe Brian is the exception to the rule.

Jimmy presses his knee between Brian’s legs, and coaxes him rapidly to an aching hardness. He won’t let Brian up for air for more than a second, dragging him back into a kiss after each gasping breath. Brian is bigger, stronger, should have no trouble taking control, but Jimmy has always been capable of throwing him off balance, and this is no exception. The other man seems to understand precisely where and how to touch Brian so that it turns off all rational thought. Twenty years of extra experience seems to make a difference. Brian is almost jealous.

“Shirts,” Jimmy rasps out, yanking at Brian’s T-shirt. Brian lifts his arms so the other man can pull it off, and then discard his own in a similar fashion.

What is revealed is nothing either of them haven’t seen before, usually while changing out of mud-drenched clothes in the BAU locker room. But in this context it feels intimate, stripping away their defenses as easily as peeling off their shirts. Brian notices a faint scar on Jimmy’s abdomen; perhaps appendicitis from years ago. He doesn’t spend nearly as much time in the gym as Brian does; there’s no real definition to his muscles, and the slight bulge of a beer belly that is slowly disappearing as the months go by. But Brian likes the softness of Jimmy’s form, lithe and graceful in his motions as he leans back down to press kisses to Brian’s chest.

Jimmy works on Brian’s pants, getting the buttons open before Brian tugs him up for another kiss. “Gorgeous,” Brian mutters. “You’re absolutely gor- _ooaahhh…_ ” His zipper is open, and Jimmy’s hand has found its intended target underneath the fabric.

“Jesus... you’re definitely more well-endowed than the last few men I’ve been with,” Jimmy says, stroking Brian while he moans into Jimmy’s shoulder. “No wonder women love you. Lift your hips, Zee.”

Brian lets out a muted laugh as Jimmy lets go and starts pulling Brian’s pants off all the way down. “Bet you say that to all the co-workers you sleep with…”

“You’re the one who does that,” Jimmy says, tossing Brian’s pants and boxers to the side. “And I’ve never lied to you, Zeller. Don’t plan to start.” He kneels between Brian’s legs and slides his hands under Brian’s back, lifting Brian up a bit as he starts kissing his stomach. “Fuck… I could bounce a quarter off these things.”

“Your flattery is appreciated… where are you…” Jimmy is kissing lower and lower, lips brushing against the fuzz below Brian’s navel. He looks up when Brian grasps his shoulder. “Wait… don’t know my, y’know, status.”

“When’s the last time you got checked?” Jimmy asks, staying in place for now, kissing and licking the same spot over and over.

“Too long ago. I think I’m fine, but just in case…” Brian points to the drawer of the bedside table. “Please?”

Jimmy nods and sits up, opening the drawer and rummaging for a condom, finding that and a small bottle of lubricant. He tosses the bottle on the bed and rips the condom wrapper open with his teeth, which shouldn’t be hot, but it is. Brian props himself up on his elbows as he watches the other man roll the condom down around his cock. He makes quick work of it.

“Okay?” Jimmy asks.

“Okay.” Brian nods, laying back down.

Jimmy nudges him farther up the bed towards the pillows. Then his arms are around Brian’s waist again, returning to his previous kissing. There’s nothing of interest on the ceiling, so Brian closes his eyes and enjoys Jimmy’s ministrations. They give him a few moments to reflect on the fact that they’re actually doing this. It isn’t a stranger taking care to explore every inch of Brian’s lower half, nipping at the inside of his thighs, making him moan. It’s Jimmy.

Jimmy Price, who shows him cat videos at least once a day and teases Brian about his obsession with Batman and always keeps Brian’s favorite yogurt in his fridge. Jimmy, who looked at him across the table halfway through their examination of Beverly’s body, tears in his eyes, and told him to hold on just a little longer. Jimmy, whose silent treatment opened a gaping hole in Brian’s chest that he almost fell into. And Jimmy pulled him back from the edge.

_Why didn’t I figure it out before?_ Brian thinks, breath speeding up as Jimmy’s tongue flicks against the head of his cock. _Did I not want to see it? Was I not ready to? Maybe neither of us were…_

When Jimmy swallows him down to the root, Brian grips his hair and cries out, shock mixed with pleasure, and a little fear that makes him cling tighter. The condom dulls the sensation a bit, which in this case might be a good thing. Brian is so wound up, already ready to let go, but at the same time, he never wants it to stop. He doesn’t know whether this is a one-night stand, or if Jimmy wants something more.

Jimmy’s tongue is wickedly talented. Brian has seen him twirl it around pens, lollipops, toothbrushes, seemingly all practice for this situation. He finds the vein on the underside of Brian’s shaft and slides his tongue against it, up and down, a jolting pleasure with each swipe that reduces Brian to a gasping mess. “Jim… Jim… fuck… n-need to slow down…” Jimmy does, backing his mouth off to wrap around the head of Brian’s cock and suck.

“When’s the last time someone did this for you, Zee?” Jimmy asks between one suck and the next.

“Too long,” Brian groans. “God, you’re so damn good at it…”

He hears Jimmy chuckle and feels him lap at the head of Brian’s prick. “I want to taste you, want it a lot.”

“I’ll get tested… promise…”

“That implies there will be encounters beyond this.” Brian opens his eyes and looks at Jimmy, relieved to see him smiling. He kisses the top of Brian’s cock. “There will if you want there to be.”

Brian nods and reaches for him. Jimmy slides up and they tangle around one another, their tongues doing the same. “Want you inside me,” Brian mumbles, tugging at Jimmy’s pants, which are somehow still on.

“You sure?”

“This isn’t my first go around, Jim… ’m sure.” He motions to the side table. “Should be another condom in there.”

“Get it for me then.” Jimmy kisses Brian and slides back, kneeling and popping the buttons on his own jeans. Brian sits up and searches the drawer as Jimmy finishes undressing. When Brian looks back at him, he’s naked, his rather generous cock standing proudly. It’s a deep red color, brushed with violet. His hair is neatly trimmed, which only serves to make him appear larger. Pre-come shines on the tip.

“Fucking hell, Price… Where were you hiding that thing?”

Jimmy laughs and scoots closer, leaning in to kiss him. “I promise it’ll fit. I’ve been with guys a lot smaller built than you.”

Brian holds up the condom. “Can I?”

“Go ahead.”

Jimmy shudders a bit when Brian rolls the rubber onto him. “When’s the last time you had anyone else touch your dick?” Brian asks.

“Longer than you, likely.” Jimmy pushes him back against the pillows and picks up the bottle of lube. “Spread ‘em.”

It has been a while since Brian has done this, so it takes him a few moments to relax enough for Jimmy to press a slicked finger into him. “I should have you do my next colonoscopy,” Brian jokes, voice sharp and distressed. “Much rather have you poking around in there than my doctor...”

“Brian, take a breath. I can’t do this if you keep clenching up.”

“Alright… yeah.” Brian rests his forehead on Jimmy’s shoulder and breathes in his familiar scent, slowly calming enough for Jimmy to slide his finger the rest of the way in. Jimmy doesn’t waste any time pressing a second one in, and Brian bites his lip and whines softly. “Please hurry…”

Third finger now, swirling and crooking them, opening Brian up. He already feels full, but he knows Jimmy is going to be unimaginable compared to this. Finally, Jimmy draws his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets, then grabs Brian’s thighs and nudges them wider. “Are you ready?”

Brian nods and wraps his arms around Jimmy’s neck, tugging the other man down and holding him in a kiss. Brian feels something brush against him, can feel Jimmy’s hand guiding his cock, and then pressure, unrelenting pressure as Jimmy pushes forward and Brian opens up around him. It burns for a short moment, the familiar sensation of a foreign object that doesn’t seem like it should be there, until the moment ends and it feels wrong not to be filled.

Jimmy moves so slow, inching into him, and it’s driving Brian crazy. He knows Jimmy is trying to be careful, but Brian doesn’t want careful; it’s taking too long. “Not going to break, Jim,” Brian says, nipping at his mouth. “Don’t have to take it slow…”

“You’re not… not the only one feeling it, Zee,” Jimmy pants, pushing in another inch. “Should’ve stretched you longer… you’re so fucking tight… _Ahh_ , stop it!”

Brian releases his clenching muscles, his hands pushing insistently against Jimmy’s backside. “Need you to… please…”

Jimmy lets out a growl and jerks his hips forward, sliding in the last few inches. “There… ha… happy?”

“Yesssss…!” It’s so amazing; Brian loves this feeling, always has. Jimmy is nudging places Brian didn’t remember existed, it’s been so long. Brian wraps his legs around Jimmy’s hips, clinging tightly. “Stay still for a minute.”

“Gladly.” Jimmy cups the back of Brian’s head and pulls him into another kiss. Brian can feel sweat breaking out on the back of his own neck; his whole body is inflamed with desire. He’s lost in the mix of scent, touch, taste of the other man. Work is going to be impossible after this.

When he’s calmed down a bit, Brian breaks the kiss and gives Jimmy a soft smile. “Okay, go ahead.” Jimmy nods and slides out halfway, then back in, eyes on Brian the whole time. It’s a smooth, practiced motion, and it draws a pleased gasp from Brian’s mouth. “ _Ohhhhh_ … oh, Jim…”

The start a slow pace; neither of them would last long going any faster. The only sounds are heavy breathing and the quiet noises of two bodies meeting. Brian has the fleeting thought that this is the best Hanukkah present he’s ever gotten. Definitely beats a pair of socks.

“You… feel… so… damn… good…” Jimmy kisses every inch of Brian he can reach, and then starts adding teeth to the mix. He finds a bit of skin just under Brian’s jaw line that is particularly sensitive, so he sucks on it and worries it with his teeth. Brian digs his nails into Jimmy’s back and tries not to come on the spot.

Every time Jimmy pulls back, Brian’s feels his body revolt at the emptiness, only to rejoice when the other man thrusts back in. He’s slowly being stretched out, which lets every thrust go just a bit deeper, a bit faster, a bit smoother. Then Jimmy angles Brian’s hips up a bit farther, and the head of his cock presses against a very specific spot. “Fuck!” Brian shouts, clenching hard. He gives Jimmy a pleading look. “Jim I can’t…. barely holding on as it is…”

Jimmy nods and sits up, grabbing Brian’s knees and wrenching them apart as far as they’ll go. “Then let’s end it,” he pants, and he snaps his hips forward, starting a relentless pace.

Brian grabs the bars of the headboard and tries to keep some semblance of control, but Jimmy’s cock is wrenching obscene noises from his throat, and building a simmer of adrenaline in his gut that is waiting to boil over. Brian hasn’t had this little control since he was a teenager. Jimmy has taken the wheel for both of them, and all Brian can do is hold on for the ride.

There’s always a moment when he knows it’s about to happen. “Jim, I’m gonna c-come,” Brian moans, his hips thrusting up into the air.

Jimmy nods, pupils blown wide as he gasps for air. “Right there with you… do it, go ahead…”

A moment later, Brian lets go. He thinks he can hear himself crying out Jimmy’s name, but it’s muted by the ringing in his ears as he dives into the waves of an orgasm. There’s an instant where everything stops, and all he can feel is pleasure burrowing into every muscle, a lightness that can only last a brief second. Then the second ends, and he comes back to himself as Jimmy shouts his name and thrusts in to the hilt a final time.

There’s a few moments of stillness, when they both catch their breath and come back to the present. Jimmy pulls out, and Brian whines at the loss of fullness, connection.

“Here,” Jimmy pants, holding his hand out. “Condom. I’ll throw ‘em out.”

Brian waits until the feeling comes back into his hands, then rolls it off and hands it over. Jimmy slides off the bed and limps to the bathroom, closing the door. Brian can hear him rustling around, the sink turning on, the toilet seat going up… or maybe down. It seems to be taking longer than necessary. Brian twists onto his side, staring at the door, a nervous knot building in his stomach.

Maybe Jimmy is stalling. Doesn’t know what to say. _But he said this wasn’t the only time,_ Brian thinks. Then again, you can’t trust what someone says in the heat of the moment. Maybe Jimmy has changed his mind.

The door opens, and Brian braces for an excuse, a dismissal, a rejection. But Jimmy just smiles at him and returns to the bed, a wet washcloth in hand. “Stay like that, I’ll clean you up.” Jimmy kneels behind him and wipes away the residual mess from their encounter, gentle movements with the warm cloth. Brian sighs gratefully and closes his eyes. It feels nice, the soreness mediated by Jimmy’s careful attention.

“All done,” Jimmy says. Brian rolls over as Jimmy tosses the cloth to the floor and leans forward on his hands. “You want me here for the night?” Jimmy asks. “Or in the guest room?”

Brian shakes his head, resting a hand over Jimmy’s closed fist.  “Stay with me,” he says. “I’d like your company.”

They get under the covers and curl around one another in the darkness. Brian presses his cheek to Jimmy’s chest and breathes in deeply. A few minutes pass quietly, both of them soaking in their post-orgasmic warmth.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Jimmy murmurs, kissing the top of Brian’s hair. “A very long time.”

“You have?” Brian asks. His eyes are adjusting to the darkness, and he can see Jimmy’s form shift. One leg nudges between Brian’s knees.

“I have,” Jimmy confirms. “Was working up the courage to tell you.”

“This was a very interesting moment to choose to confess. Usually people try to admit they like someone when that person isn’t emotionally devastated.”

“I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to stop you from crying.”

“Never said it wasn’t a good tactic. Just not an oft used one…” Brian twists his head to graze his lips against Jimmy’s chest. “So, where do we go from here?”

“Where do you want it to go?”

“I… what would you have said, if you had been able to sit me down and lay all this out?”

Jimmy is quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Brian listens to Jimmy’s heart beating while he waits.

“Well…” Jimmy starts. “I would tell you that I care about you a lot, but it’s more than caring now, it’s… it’s needing. Ignoring you this summer was almost as painful as losing Bev. It was like missing part of myself. And I’d rather have half of what I want from you than lose all of it. So if you don’t want me in the same way... please forget this and keep what we’ve got already.”

“That was a good speech,” Brian mumbles. “I would’ve totally let you bang me if you’d told me that. Like, immediately.”

“Zeller…”

“I’m serious. And you can have all of me. I want you in the same way. So now that we’ve settled that, lemme sleep.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“‘s why you love me,” Brian says, yawning. “Sleep, Jim. We’ll sort the rest out in the morning.”

Brian gets woken up later on during the night by Jimmy, stroking his back and singing softly.

_“Make my wish come true… All I want for Christmas… is you…”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOO FINALLY. Is what I know a few of you are saying :P
> 
> Comments and fair criticism always appreciated, perverted readers!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning, there's one instance of homophobic language in this chapter.

 

 

“You seem chipper, Zeller.”

Brian turns away from the coffeepot to see Menendez walking into the break room. She holds out an empty coffee cup expectantly. He smiles and fills it for her.

“Had a good week,” Brian says, smiling.

He isn’t lying. On Christmas morning, Jimmy woke him up with a lengthy blow job, and they proceeded to make use of the bed until past noon. Neither of them had anywhere to go, so they ordered Chinese for dinner, and later on defiled half the rooms in Brian’s house. Brian was sorry to have to go back to work, but Jimmy has ended up at his house or vice versa for the last three nights, and New Year’s Eve and Day have already been set aside for more time together. Though honestly, even without the sex, that would’ve happened anyway. Not much has changed, except that now when Jimmy wants to shut Brian up, he pins Brian to the couch - or the kitchen counter or the wall or a lot of places - and kisses him into silence.

“Did you get a nice Christmas present? Or Hannukah for you, I should say.” Carla steals the skim milk from the counter behind him and pours enough to almost spill over the rim of the cup.

“A very nice one. It’s going to keep me occupied for a long time to come.”

“You hooked up with someone, didn’t you?”

Brian laughs. “Is it that obvious?”

“Mhmm.” She stirs the liquid, fixing him with an analyzing look. “Another red head? Or the same one?”

“What? No, ah, not that.” Jimmy and Beverly weren’t the only ones to figure out what had gone on with Freddie. Suffice to say, some people at the BAU won’t speak to him anymore. Brian doesn’t necessarily blame them. But Carla forgave him.

“A brunette then. Probably with a nice huge rack, knowing your tastes...”

“Hey, those are also your tastes, hypocrite. But no. More of a… nicely aging blond. Well, most of the way grey by now. And his rack isn’t huge, thank god. That’d be awkward.”

“You’re sleeping with Price, aren’t you?”

Brian chokes on the big gulp of coffee he just drank, smacking his chest to get the liquid out of his lungs. His face is burning red, a dead giveaway that she’s right. “How the hell - _cough cough_ \- how did you figure that out?!”

“You’ve both been sad sacks for months,” Carla says. “Now you both come into work this week looking like you’ve won the lottery? I’m not blind. Neither is the rest of the department. They’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, well… not breaking any rules, so it’s no one’s damn business.”

“Never said it was. As long as you’re both less depressing to work with, I’m glad.” She pats him on the back and leaves.

Brian fills a second cup and trails down to Jimmy’s office, knocking on the door. Jimmy opens up, and the smile that lights up his face when he sees Brian is blinding.

“Hey, you busy?” Brian asks.

“Never for you,” Jimmy says, pulling him inside and shutting the door. He takes the cup that Brian offers him, and then tugs Brian’s own cup away, setting them both on the desk. Then he grabs Brian by the coat collar and shoves him against the door, kissing him.

“ _Fuck_ , Jim…” Brian groans when the kiss ends, feeling his body react in workplace-inappropriate ways. “Can’t do that. I have case files full of dead kids and grandmas to look over and it’s going to be really awkward for me if I have a boner.”

“You’ll get over it,” Jimmy mutters, teeth nibbling down Brian’s jaw as he fiddles with the top button on Brian’s shirt. “You fell asleep last night before we could do anything. Now all I can think about is bending you over my desk and breaking several dozen department policies outlining co-worker interactions.”

“Jim, stop…” Brian returns to his senses long enough to grab Jimmy’s shoulders and pull him back. The loss of body contact helps cool him down. “I would very much like to do all those things. But right now, we need to talk. About us.”

“That’s never a good sentence,” Jimmy says, expression drooping. “You aren’t suddenly regretting this, are you?”

“No, of course not.” Brian pecks him softly on the lips, wanting to reassure him. “We just need to discuss some things.” He motions to the chairs. “Can we sit?” If there’s a desk between them, hopefully Jimmy will listen instead of trying to find ways to distract him.

Jimmy sighs and nods, sitting behind the desk. Brian sits up front and redistributes their coffee cups.

“So what do we need to discuss, Zeller?” Jimmy asks.

“Menendez knows we’re…” _Seeing each other? Dating? Friends with benefits?_ Brian realizes now that they’ve yet to define what this is. “...that we’re involved. Wasn’t hard for her to guess, and we probably won’t be able to keep it a secret for long.”

“So? This isn’t against any rules. I’m not your superior, and we aren’t in positions to abuse the privileges of the other. Believe me, I’ve done my research,” Jimmy mutters, sipping his coffee.

“Even so, if we look like we’re trying to hide, someone might try to claim it’s because our relationship is affecting our work. Prurnell is gunning for us; she could use this to try and transfer both of us to another department halfway across the country. Or just one of us, which is the more likely scenario.”

“What are you suggesting, then?”

Brian leans back in the chair, running a hand through his hair. “I’m suggesting we fill out an interdepartmental relationship form. Get out in front, make it official, because that is one of the department requirements when two people start a relationship. And then we continue being exemplary employees and no one will be able to claim otherwise.” Jimmy is looking at his lap, fingers drumming against the ceramic mug. “Jim?”

“I… I don’t like mixing professional with personal. It’s why I’ve never been... involved with a co-worker.” He glances up at Brian with a half-hearted smile. “Wasn’t so long ago that this would’ve been career suicide for us, Zee.”

Oh. Now it makes sense. Brian leans forward, speaking softly. “Jim, I get that. But it’s twenty-fifteen. This isn’t a big deal anymore.”

“It’s _always_ a big deal, Brian. Doesn’t matter how many years go on.” Jimmy puts the mug down and rests his arms on the desk, picking at a bit of wood. “You’re not old enough to remember what this place was like twenty-five years ago. I didn’t feel comfortable telling my co-workers basic facts about myself for a good decade. I didn’t use the locker rooms unless I was the only man there. I wouldn’t go out for drinks with the guys out of fear that someone in the group would start fag-bashing other patrons.” He glances up at Brian, shoulders tense, eyes shifting uncertainly. “Or that one of those patrons would recognize me and out me to everyone.”

Brian gets out of the chair and comes around the desk. Jimmy watches him as Brian kneels down and reaches out to clasp Jimmy’s hands.

“You’re right. I don’t know what that was like. By the time I got here, nobody really cared if I slept with men or women. And there are probably a few people who will give us a hard time anyway, no matter what year it is..” Brian kisses the top of Jimmy’s hands as the other man looks on, mouth set in a hard line that threatens to shatter. “I promise, I’ll do anything in my power to make sure no one will hurt you again. But I won’t have any power to do that if we get caught breaking rules.”

Jimmy closes his eyes, nodding. He seems to be thinking, so Brian stays quiet.

“You haven’t signed any official paperwork yet, right?” Jimmy finally asks.

“No, can’t do it without you there.”  
  
“Good. Then I can still do this without breaking regulations.” Jimmy tugs Brian up onto his lap and kisses him, fingers still wrapped tightly around Brian’s own hands, though shaking slightly. “I love you,” Jimmy murmurs after they break the kiss, resting his forehead against Brian’s. “I must, if I’m considering this.”

“I know,” Brian says, placing a hand right over Jimmy’s heart. Jimmy covers it with his own. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t love you too. Can’t let anyone find a way to take you away from me.”

They sit there for a while, until they’ve both calmed down. When they fill out the paperwork, they write “partners” in the box that describes their relationship status. It’s the only thing that’s ever seemed right.

 

~

 

“I can’t believe he actually called you,” Brian says.

“I can’t believe you actually agreed to see him,” Jimmy says.

“I can’t believe I agreed to take you both with me,” Will grumbles, slouching lower in the back seat.

They’re on their way to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, currently being run - after two separate periods of hiatus of course - by Dr. Frederick Chilton, the man that loves to dissect the thoughts of serial killers, and who in turn often gets literally dissected by them. Chilton was reinstated as the director of the BSHCI a few months after Hannibal’s disappearance. Apparently getting shot in the face didn’t break his stride.

Brian hasn’t seen Chilton since they arrested him last April. At the time, he wanted nothing more than to wring the slimy little weasel’s neck, believing that he was the one who had killed Beverly. Of course, now Brian knows that Chilton wasn’t to blame. Doesn’t mean he likes the guy though. Chilton has always been a creep.

“Is he really writing a book about Lecter?” Jimmy asks, guiding the car into the hospital parking lot. “Does he want Lecter to finish what Miriam Lass and Abel Gideon started?”

“Frederick has never been particularly intelligent,” Will says, gazing out at building. There’s a tense knit to his eyebrows, and Brian realizes he must be thinking about the several months vacation he spent locked up in this place. “However, his lust for attention and approval means he’ll risk incurring Hannibal’s wrath.”

Exiting the car, they walk up the path to the front doors of the antiquated institution. The biting January air makes Brian wish he’d brought along some gloves. He reaches out for Jimmy’s hand, only to remember that Will doesn’t know they’re together yet. Quickly, he jerks his hand back and shoves it into his pocket. Jimmy looks at him, confusion and a bit of hurt lacing his expression. Brian ignores the guilt blooming in his gut and jogs up the last few steps to the doors.

Security has increased since the last time he was here. They have to go through both a metal detector and a full body pat-down, as well as sending all of their bags and coats through an x-ray machine. “Did he take notes from the TSA?” Jimmy mumbles to Brian as they put their shoes back on and grab their things.

Another security guard comes to escort them to Chilton’s office. Will keeps fidgeting and glancing around, like he’s afraid someone is going to realize they made a mistake in releasing him. It’s putting Brian on edge, and he resists the urge to snap at the other man to calm the hell down. Why would Will agree to come here? Is finding Hannibal worth subjecting himself to the memories of what he went through?

Winding their way through the maze of corridors, Brian can’t keep track of how far they’ve gone. Every hallway looks the same; drab beige and green walls with black-tiled floors. The windows are all opaque glass, blocking out most of the light. How anyone manages to navigate this place is a mystery. They must have designed it this way to confuse any inmates that escaped their cells.

Said inmates make their presence known audibly, their muffled shouts echoing from far-away, despite the thick walls. Brian supposes that it’s a blessing he can’t really understand what they’re saying. It likely wouldn’t be pleasant. He wonders what it’s like to listen to yourself scream for hours on end and know that the only people who can hear you are just as trapped as you are. He could ask Will if he wanted to… but he doesn’t.

Finally, they emerge into a hallway with soft carpeting and wooden doorways stretching down the length, embossed nameplates set into the wall next to each door. At the farthest end of the hall, the name F. CHILTON sticks out, his plate marred by scuff marks at the edges, removed and replaced over and over again.

Will knocks on the door, Brian and Jimmy in tow behind him. The guard leans against the wall, obviously not going anywhere. There’s a _clunk_ noise repeating itself from the room, getting louder as it draws closer to the door. Then the door opens.

Chilton still has the cane, though a less ostentatious one than the silver-capped one Brian remembers him having before. His suit is grey, drab, much less colorful than the fashion he wore last year. His most arresting feature now is the purpled circle of scar tissue mottling his right cheek, the edges of which disappear under the black eyepatch over his right eye.

Chilton’s good eye flicks between the three of them, widening a bit when he sees Brian. _I wasn’t the nicest to him at the end,_ Brian thinks as Chilton looks away, focusing a tight, forced smile at Will. “I didn’t realize you were bringing Agent Price and Agent Zeller with you,” Chilton says.

“Is it a problem?” Will asks. Brian doubts he actually cares.

“Oh, not at all. Come in, gentlemen.” Chilton lets them into the room, nodding to the guard outside before shutting the door. He limps back over to his desk, keeping his back ramrod straight, even though Brian can tell it hurts to do so. Chilton still has that tight, fake smile, the one that doesn't reach his remaining eye, plastered on his face and remains standing as Will, Brian, and Jimmy take their seats. Only when they are all settled does Chilton ease himself down into his ornate leather chair.

“You seem to be recovering well,” Jimmy says. He’s always the one to try and smooth things over, break the tension in a room. It’s not going to work this time; Chilton grips his cane like the knob of a baseball bat, ready to defend himself in case one of them launches over the desk and attacks him.

“Yes, well, as best as can be expected,” Chilton says. “I’m glad you and your... associates could meet with me, Mr. Graham. You may have heard that I’m interested in putting together a profile on Hannibal Lecter to more clearly understand his pathology and... motivations.” There’s a nearly invisible twitch to his facial features on the last word. “This profile, I’m told, would be extremely helpful to the ongoing investigation into Hannibal’s whereabouts. I imagine Agents Price and Zeller understand what I’m talking about - but wait, you aren’t currently involved with Agent Prurnell’s investigation, are you?”

Chilton leans back in his chair, looking smugly self-satisfied. Brian grips the armchair tightly, resisting the urge to lunge at him, just to see how high-pitched Chilton’s scream really is. Jimmy discretely taps his arm, shakes his head slightly without looking at him as a warning: _Let it go._

“And of course, this just happens to be a great publishing opportunity for you,” Will says, eyes fixed on the ostentatious design of the tiled ceiling above. “I bet you’ve already got a title picked out and an advance from your publisher.”

“Now, Mr. Graham, the general public needs to be informed of what sort of psychopath we’re dealing with here.” Chilton raps his knuckles on the desk. “After all, we have no idea where he is at this moment.” He motions to the wall of bookshelves, dozens of books with thousands of pages about mental illness and the minds of serial killers. “A well-read profile, perhaps with international attention on it? Hannibal’s face plastered on every bookshop window on the planet? He wouldn’t be able to hide for very long.”

“Very altruistic,” Brian grumbles. “You’ll be the saintly little martyr putting his life on the line to take down the man who almost got you killed - _twice_.”

Chilton’s smug demeanor falters slightly. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m putting my life on the line…”

“But you are, Dr. Chilton,” Jimmy says. There’s a devilish look behind his eyes. “Publishing an expose on Hannibal’s most intimate thoughts and life details? You’re right, we don’t know where he is. So what’s stopping him from coming after you when he sees what you’ve done?”

“Well, I…” Chilton adjusts his collar. “I’m sure reentering the country is an impossibility for him at the moment. I’ll just have to stay right here until you gentleman _do your jobs_ and catch him, as it were.”

“So why am I here, then?” Will asks, pushing his glasses up, voice rising to a dead-pan flatness. “You wanna poke around in my head again, since you found it so fascinating before? Maybe you’d like to learn how much I’m like Hannibal.”

“Certainly not, Will.” Chilton still looks uneasy, but he seems to be more comfortable talking to Will than either Brian or Jimmy. “I simply require your help understanding Dr. Lecter more fully. You are the man he allowed to see his most vulnerable self. You are also the only one who’s ever managed to get the upper hand over him. I’m curious as to why. Why you? What did this psychopath see in-”

“He’s not,” Will interrupts. “You keep calling him a psychopath. That’s not what he is.”

“I see.” Chilton flips open a little notepad, his hand snapping out to snatch a ball-point pen from a gaudily elaborate pen holder. He starts jotting down notes. _The little weasel doesn’t waste a moment_ , Brian thinks. “A sociopath, then?” Chilton asks.

“No.” Will shakes his head. “He isn’t either of those things. He isn’t crazy, either. He’s fully in control of all of his facilities.”

“Then what would you suggest he be categorized as, Mr. Graham?”

“That’s the thing… Hannibal doesn’t have a category.” Will leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes lost in distant thought. Brian glances over to Jimmy, who shrugs. It seems neither of them will be much help right now, let alone be acknowledged as being in the room..

Chilton frowns, tapping his pen on the notepad. “Explain, if you would? He fits plenty of the signs of psychopathy, as well as several personality disorders as defined in the DSM-V." He turns a smirking gaze on Brian and Jimmy, his tone condescendingly smug. "That's the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders for those of you not in the know."

“I exhibit many of those same signs,” Will murmurs. “But neither of us can be categorized that way. Hannibal… he isn’t driven by violence itself. He isn’t emotionless; he can feel… deeply.” Will takes a shuddering breath, running his hand over his face. “The people he cares for, they fascinate him. They strike him as useful, worth his time. Everyone else… is just a pig needing to be slaughtered.” Will glances up. “You’re just a pig to him, Frederick. He’s been fattening you up for ages.”

The room has gone quiet. Chilton’s face is white, as are the knuckles on the hand that grips his cane. Brian feels the bile rising in his throat, the curdling anger threatening to boil over. _Was Beverly just a pig to him?_ he wants to shout. _Why should he get to decide who has value?_

“I see.” Chilton sets the pen down, and the notepad. “That was certainly… _revelatory_ , Mr. Graham. Would you say you shared his sentiments?”

“No. People are imperfect. Sometimes…” Will flicks his eyes to the left, towards Brian and Jimmy, who are both staring at him after that speech. “Sometimes I don’t see the value in people that I should. Sometimes I forget that people can be hurt because I push things too far.” A strained smile crosses his features. “But I don’t believe I can play God. Hannibal does.”

Chilton picks up the pen again and proceeds to ask Will further, more personal questions that Brian doesn’t care to listen to. He lets his mind wander, his gaze stopping on a dark red spot on the carpet. It looks like blood that wasn’t able to be removed. The rest of the rug is spotless, except for here. Brian wonders if Chilton stares at the spot sometimes, a reminder of the dark spots soiling the veneer of his classy, dignified life.

He feels a hand rest over his own, and Brian looks over to see Jimmy’s hand over his, feels Jimmy’s thumb caressing his palm in a fashion much too intimate for colleagues or casual friends. He almost pulls away, but Jimmy’s eyes are muted like grey rain, distant, pained, and Brian knows there are dark things hiding behind those eyes, memories rising to the surface. Jimmy is reaching out because he needs this. So Brian curls his fingers around Jimmy’s knuckles and lifts them up, pressing a kiss to them. Who cares if Will or Chilton sees it? Of all the people in this room, they have the least reason to hide. And it’s worth it to see some of the light come back to Jimmy’s eyes.

When Chilton runs out of questions to ask, the men rise and cross the floor. Chilton puts a little speed in his painful steps and rests his hand on Will's arm, eyes wide like two saucers. “You’re going to catch him, aren’t you, Will?”

Brian is surprised that Will doesn’t pull away. Instead, he rests his hand over Chilton’s, nodding. “We’re going to try, Frederick. If you can think of anything that would be useful, call one of us.”

Chilton nods eagerly, stepping back, wearing the first genuine smile they’ve seen all day. “Of course. Thank you gentlemen for coming. This was extremely helpful.”

The guard is waiting to escort them when they open the door. All of them seem to relax more as they head towards the entrance, as if a dark cloud is slowly dissipating from over their heads. The muted sunlight of the cloudy mid-winter skies feels like a blessing compared to the oppressive atmosphere inside the building.

They head out into the whipping winter winds. “What was that all about?” Brian asks as they get into the car. “You had a moment with Chilton there.”

Will closes his eyes, and shrugs. “Even Frederick Chilton has value. Hannibal still has a hold over Frederick that he shouldn’t be allowed to have. No one deserves that.”

“Whatever you say,” Jimmy says, shutting his door. “He’s interested in picking your brain, not ours.” Jimmy unzips his jacket and fastens his seat belt, muttering, "Thank God for small favors."

“I wasn’t the only one who had a moment in there,” Will says. “Am I going to have to make sure I don’t leave you two alone together in my house from now on? I think Chilton was jealous that I didn’t kiss him like that.”

Jimmy starts cackling, all the worry and tension melting away from his features in a genuine outburst of delight. Brian can’t help but laugh, even as he feels his face flush a bit. “I promise we’ll keep it PG at your place,” Brian says, turning the key and fiddling with the radio settings. “And if you ever do kiss him like that, let me be there to take pictures.”

“It’s good, though,” Will mumbles, yawning. “‘m happy for you both…”

Will falls asleep on the drive home. Jimmy takes Brian’s hand, and doesn’t let go for the whole ride.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and fair criticism are always appreciated, astute readers!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the home stretch of this fic! And 4 days till the Season 3 premiere! WOOOO!

 

 

The clinic called Brian about an hour ago, right after Jimmy left for home. They’re staying at Jimmy’s place tonight, and Jimmy offered to cook something nice for them both. Unfortunately, Brian had to stick around to complete some autopsy reports, but once he finished, he bolted out the door and broke the speed limit driving home.

Brian knew the call was coming today. The nurse said the next batch of test results was coming in when he called the clinic this morning, and that Brian’s test was with this batch. He’s been a nervous wreck most of the day. He doesn’t think he’ll test positive for anything, but he just wants to hear it from an official source. So when the nurse calls back and tells him he’s negative for any STDs, he feels a flood of relief.

Jimmy got tested, too, just in case, and his tests had come back negative nearly ten days ago. And despite all the sticky notes Jimmy left on the fridge, his text messages, and his whispered reminders after every goodnight kiss to "go get tested, Brian," Brian still kept procrastinating about going into his doctor's office. For a man who works with sharp needles and handles a scalpel with skill and precision, he has an odd aversion to having his own skin pierced. But Jimmy pinned him down to the bed one night and whispered into his ear a highly detailed and carefully planned list of things he'd be willing to do with -- and to -- Brian once they both tested clean. That had lead to some fun, condom-necessary events, and was the final motivation he needed to do the deed.

Brian breaks the speed limit trying to drive to Jimmy’s place, and he has to talk himself out of putting on the siren to make the drive faster. But soon enough he’s parked in Jimmy’s driveway, running up the steps and opening the front door. “ _Honey, I’m home!_ ” he shouts, a wide grin plastered to his face.

“In the kitchen!” Jimmy calls back to him. Brian puts his bag down on the couch and strides down the hall, turning into the kitchen.

“So guess what happened while-” Brian stops in his tracks, hands frozen around his tie, in the middle of taking it off. “Uhh…”

Jimmy's whistling cheerily as he stirs something on the stove, his back to Brian. He’s also completely naked, spare for the white apron wrapped around his waist. It covers his front, but his backside is completely uncovered. He sways back and forth, dancing in place, wiggling his rear, and when he turns around, Brian can see the unmistakable outline of an erection against the front of the white cloth.

“Hey,” Jimmy says, stepping towards him. “Did the nurse call you back?”

“What… um… yeah?” Brian says, still frozen. “Why… why are you…”

“And what were the results?” Jimmy asks, stopping in front of Brian, clasping his hands behind his back.

“They, I’m- I’m negative!” Brian finally splutters out, staring at Jimmy. Jimmy grins, clearly pleased at the effect his little show is having on Brian. “We’re in the clear.”

“Good,” Jimmy says.

The apron falls to the floor.

“You are such a little shit,” Brian says, grabbing Jimmy by the waist and pressing him back against the wall. Jimmy is laughing, but it turns to a deep moan when Brian bites down on the crook of his neck.

“Th-thought you’d enjoy this,” Jimmy gasps, hands fumbling at Brian’s fly. Brian grabs his wrists in one hand and pins them above Jimmy’s head, exploring Jimmy’s collarbone with his tongue. “Oh, _fuck…_ ”

“What... what would you have done if I’d been positive?” Brian asks. He starts working on his own fly, hoping Jimmy won’t mind being the bottom tonight, because Brian is aching to be deep inside him. And without a rubber, actually able to feel every little bit of warmth and muscle and pressure… god, he wants this _so_ badly.

“That would have been an issue… _ahhh_ … but you’re not. So it all worked out in the end.” Jimmy thumps his head back against the wall and whines as Brian nips at his throat. “Let me touch you, please! Been wanting to touch you all day…”

Brian lets go of Jimmy’s hands. He’s managed to kick both shoes off, and leans down to yank his socks off as well. “So you’ve still got lube left in that bottle, right?” He grabs Jimmy’s hips and tugs him towards the hallway. “Come on, no time for foreplay, want to get you prepped and ready this instant.”

“Brian.” Jimmy grabs his wrist. He guides Brian’s hand, pulling it past Jimmy’s hip and around to his backside, resting it against the curve of his cheeks. “Feel.”

Brian frowns and nudges his hands between Jimmy’s cheeks. There’s something firm there… silicone, covered in liquid, slippery and warm. Brian’s eyes widen. “Is that a plug?” Jimmy nods. “Holy shit…”

Jimmy leans forward and whispers against Brian’s ear. “I need you so badly, Zee.”

He doesn’t have to tell Brian twice. Brian yanks his pants the rest of the way down, kicking them off, as Jimmy pulls the plug out of himself with a harsh gasp and tosses it to the floor. Brian hoists Jimmy up, back against the wall. Jimmy wraps his legs around Brian’s waist, and he shifts his hips as Brian angles his cock… and then Jimmy is sinking down onto him, and they both let out a harsh gasp.

“Oh my god… You feel amazing…” Brian holds onto Jimmy’s hips and just moves, using the wall as leverage. He can press Jimmy against the solid surface and roll his hips down to pull part of the way out, and then gravity does the work when he rolls his hips back up.

Jimmy’s face is buried in his shoulder, and he’s making all sorts of pleased and pleasing noises, seemingly unable to control his reaction. Whatever is on the stove sounds like it’s boiling over, but Brian doesn’t care. The whole damn house could catch fire, and he’s not pulling out until they’re both satisfied.

“Aren’t your… your legs g-getting tired?” Jimmy gasps out, digging his heels into Brian’s backside. “You w-wanna move to the couch?”

“No,” Brian growls, snapping his hips up hard. “I’m f-fucking you right here…” He’s going to ache from holding the other man up later on, but right now, adrenaline and lust are overpowering every other sensation and boosting his strength.

Sex with a condom is still great, but it dulls some of the sensations, and prevents them from being able to do certain things. Brian feels every twitch of muscle now, every slight clench. There’s no friction, just a sweet wet heat, and their desperate noises.

“Zee, hate to tell you… not as young as you…” Jimmy says, fingers scratching at Brian’s back. “Need to… couch or floor…”

“Alright, alright.” Brian chuckles and holds Jimmy’s hips firmly, lifting them off the wall. He carries the other man over to the couch, laying them both out across the length. “Better?”

“So much,” Jimmy says, leaning up to kiss him. “I want to be able to concentrate on how good your cock feels, and not on my back pain.”

“You were getting heavy,” Brian admits, starting to move again.

It only takes a few more minutes until Brian is shuddering and burying himself to the root inside Jimmy as his orgasm takes hold. Jimmy is about to do the same, but Brian pulls out suddenly, leaving Jimmy to whine in a frustrated protest. “What the hell, Brian?!”

“Relax, you’ll like it.” And when Brian leans down and wraps his mouth around Jimmy’s cock, the other man does seem to respond favorably. He gasps loudly, fingers grasping for something to hold onto, eventually finding Brian’s hair. It takes another minute, and Jimmy almost yanks some hair out, but soon enough he’s arching up off the couch. Brian takes him in deep and swallows down his release, hot and salty against the back of his tongue.

Jimmy props himself up onto his elbows, panting. “Okay, I may have liked that.”

“We can switch roles later,” Brian says, crawling up to kiss him again. “I think something is burning in the kitchen…”

The chicken is burned to hell in the oven, so they order takeout. It works out in the end; they waste all the energy they would’ve used on dishes on other, more enjoyable pursuits.

 

~

 

Brian is trying to not fall asleep at his desk when someone knocks on his door. He and Jimmy had a late night, and now he’s stuck working on digitizing cold case files from the 70’s, cases that will never be solved anyway, so why bother at this point?

“Come in,” he says, and Prurnell steps into his office, shutting the door firmly. _Uh oh_ , Brian thinks. _It’s never a good sign when she wants to talk to me._

“Agent Zeller, I need a word,” she says, closing the door behind her. She sits in the seat across from him, crossing her legs and smoothing down her skirt. “It’s been brought to my attention that you recently visited Dr. Chilton, along with Agent Price, and Will Graham was in attendance as well.”

Brian's hand stills on the computer mouse for a brief moment while he replies, “That did happen, yes. Nothing wrong with visiting someone, is there?”

Prurnell’s gaze sharpens at his reply. “And you would say the nature of your visit was…?”

“Obviously personal, Agent Prurnell.” Brian closes the laptop, folding his arms. “I’m not assigned to any cases involving the good doctor, so there’s no reason for a professional visit.”

“You’re good friends with Frederick Chilton, now? As well as Will Graham?” Prurnell doesn’t look convinced. Brian doesn’t blame her.

"Survivors of traumatic events tend to bond with people who've shared in the same traumatic event. Or at least, that's what my good friend Frederick Chilton taught me during our visit.” Brian fixes her with a penetrating look. "Am I not allowed to work through personal trauma in ways you don’t approve of?"

Prurnell sighs and flips a bit of hair from her eyes. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Brian.” Brian raises his eyebrow. She has never called him by his first name. “I’d just like some honesty.”

“You want honesty, _Kade_? I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say.”

“You know, from the moment I got here, all I got from you and Price was hostility,” Prurnell says. “And I couldn’t understand why. If my superior had been making such dangerous, risky decisions, I believe I would’ve reported it to someone.”  Pausing, she returns Brian’s gaze with her own coolly appraising one. “But you and Jimmy have never stopped being loyal to Jack Crawford, have you? Even after he put your careers and your lives in danger?”

“He didn’t put-”

“He did.” Prurnell doesn’t shout, but there’s a quiet commanding nature to her voice that is surprisingly powerful. Brian falls silent as she continues. “Whether you want to believe it or not, the reason Hannibal Lecter isn’t in custody is because Jack Crawford thought he was smarter than everyone else. At the end of the day, Jack Crawford doesn’t see you as an equal. You, Agent Price, Mr. Graham, you’re all pawns in the game he was playing with Hannibal Lecter.”

Brian grips the arm of his chair with one white knuckled hand, gritting his teeth. “That’s not- We were a team. A very good team. Jack was our boss, but he trusted us.”

“He trusted you to follow him,” Prurnell says quietly. There’s a steely undertone in her voice that brooks no contradiction.. “But he didn’t trust you enough to listen. Can you honestly tell me that you never questioned what he was doing? And if you did, would he have even listened?”

He wants to tell her that of course Jack would’ve listened. Yes, Brian had doubts, but… but if he’d taken them to Jack… well, Crawford was just doing what needed to be done. Wasn’t he?

“You weren’t there,” Brian says. “None of us were entirely sure of ourselves. You can’t understand what it’s like for Hannibal Lecter to throw you entirely off balance until it happens to you.”

“Maybe not. But I know what it’s like to believe that the ends justify the means. Jack Crawford believes that, and it doesn’t matter who gets hurt along the way, does it?”

Brian pushes away the memory of Will’s hollow eyes on the night Brian stormed out of his house. “Is there a point to all of this, Agent Prurnell? Or did you just come here to berate me for Jack’s mistakes?”

Prurnell shakes her head, and her tone softens a bit. “I came here because I don’t want you repeating his mistakes. You’re too good an agent to get dragged down in the mess he created.”

Brian slaps his palm on the desk. “Then why have I been on desk duty for _nine months_?!” He knows he shouldn’t lose control like this, but he can’t help it. Prurnell looks as calm as a still lake, seemingly unfazed by any of their conversation. It’s infuriating. “Why haven’t I seen the inside of the morgue since May?!”

“You think that was my decision,” Prurnell says. It’s a statement, not a question. “You don’t understand the backlash that came down on this department when it came out that Crawford was using the BAU as his own personal cudgel. I was brought in to put some semblance of order back into this place. But that doesn’t mean I’m in complete control.”

“You- you aren’t the one keeping us on desk duty?” Brian asks. The other half of the “us” mentioned doesn’t need qualification.

Prurnell shakes her head. “If it were up to my bosses, you and Price would’ve gotten shitcanned months ago. They see you two as complicit just the same as Jack is in this whole mess. But I don’t believe in punishing people for their superior’s mistakes.”

“So why the desk duty?”

“You both needed to prove your value to the department outside of being Jack Crawford’s pet scientists, and you have been. You’ve kept your heads down, done the work that was asked of you. I’ve been trying to get you back into the field for the last few months, but I didn’t have enough clout at the time. You’re not the only one whose performance is being judged, Agent Zeller.”

None of this makes sense. Prurnell has barely said two sentences to him the entire time she’s been here, and yet she’s been fighting to make sure he and Jimmy keep their jobs? She wasn’t the one who took them off field duty? She wants them back in the field?

“Why didn’t you tell us any of this before, then?” Brian asks, some of the tension in his spine dissipating. “Why now?”

“Because now I’ve come to find that you and Agent Price and Will Graham are continuing to emulate Jack Crawford,” Prurnell says. “Frederick Chilton has as many friends as he does morals. There’s only one reason you three would’ve gone to see him. I’d also assume you and Agent Price weren’t hanging out with Will Graham too much before last May.

Brian sighs. “I feel like I should plead the fifth. So is this the part where you tell me I’m fired?”

“No. Is that what you got from this?” Prurnell asks, frowning.

“I’m still processing a lot of things. What is the point of all this?”

“The point is that right now, my bosses don’t know what the three of you are up to, and I’d rather they not find out. But if you continue to poke around and disregard regulations put in place for a _very good_ reason, I can’t protect you. If you keep looking for Hannibal Lecter, the only thing you’re going to find is a pink slip and a decade-long career wasted.”

“So then let us back onto the BAU investigation,” Brian says. “Put us to work. We’re all valuable assets.”

Prurnell shakes her head. “Even if that were up to me, I wouldn’t do it.”

“Why?”

“You’re all compromised. All of you. Agent Crawford should’ve taken you off the case the day Beverly Katz died.”

Brian swallows hard, scrunching up his face. “Should’ve expected that, I guess.”

“This department has a lot of potential, Agent Zeller. Part of that is because of the people it employs.” Prurnell gives him a pointed look. “I want it working as a well-oiled machine. I can’t do that with agents whose personal vendettas will affect their job performance.”

Brian sits back, folding his arms. “Jack isn’t coming back, is he?”

“Not likely, no.”

Brian should’ve expected that answer, really. The hope that somehow, Jack would be reinstated and they’d all work together to bring down Hannibal was a nice fantasy. But it was just a fantasy, wasn’t it?

A lot of what Prurnell is saying is making sense. Maybe this is a wild goose chase, going after Lecter. Maybe Alana Bloom was right after all. It certainly would be healthier to move on.

_I don’t want to move on, though._ Moving on means moving on from everything. There are some things back there he doesn’t want to let go. Or some people, as it were.

_When’s the last time we actually made any progress on finding Lecter?_ After the Italy tip, Hannibal’s trail had gone cold. Talking to Chilton was a desperate effort to reignite that trail. For the last month, all they’ve done has been sit around Wolf Trap, petting dogs and staring silently at the overcrowded bulletin board, yarn criss-crossing between articles and pictures, a thousand little connections. And in the end, what has it gotten them? Nothing.

Prurnell watches him closely, giving him time to think before speaking again. “I’d like you to help me build a better BAU, Agent Zeller,” Prurnell says. “You can be a vital part of that, or you can stay loyal to Jack Crawford, for whatever that’s gotten you.”

“I don’t want to be behind a desk anymore,” Brian blurts out.

Prurnell smiles. “I already handled that. I’ve got a body coming in from Westchester tomorrow. I’m putting you and Price in charge of autopsy and evidence collection. I’ll get you both out into the field within the next month as well.”

Brian bites back an excited smile. The thought of actually doing something productive again makes him happier than he probably should be. And he gets to work with Jimmy again! Really work with him, on something that isn’t paperwork. They get to return to investigative work, to do what they excel at, and do it together.

“I’ll consider what you’ve said carefully, ma’am,” Brian says, nodding to her. “I… Thank you for the talk.”

Prurnell stands up, brushing down her skirt. “I expect good things from you, Agent Zeller. Your record is impressive, and I expect the same caliber of work as before.” She moves to the door, opening it. Then she pauses and looks back. “I saw the paperwork you and Agent Price submitted to HR. Congratulations to you both. You make a good team, so I’m told.” There’s a hint of a smile as she says it, and then she’s out the door.

Brian slouches back into his chair, drawing a hand through his hair. _I’m so torn_ , he thinks. What Prurnell is offering sounds pretty damn good. He’s still not quite sure he can trust her, but he may be willing to try. Back into the field, doing the job he loves...

At the same time, all the work he and Will and Jimmy have done, all the months pouring over evidence into the late evening hours, tracking Lecter across Europe… It would all go to waste. Even if they handed over what they’ve found out to the BAU, Will would be cut out of the case completely. No more information from Jack, no more documents that Brian can manage to secret out of the BAU.

Of course, Will would keep going. He’d probably do something drastic, something dangerous. Will won’t stop until Hannibal Lecter is behind bars. Or until Will is six feet under, in the worst case scenario.

Prurnell is probably going to talk to Jimmy now. Or she did before she came to Brian. So he and Jimmy can talk about this later.

For now, more paperwork.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and fair criticism always appreciated, tricky readers!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished the rough draft, and just in time! Tomorrow is the last chapter, and the epilogue goes up on Thursday. AND THEN SEASON 3 COMES OUT!

 

 

They don’t end up getting to talk about it for the next few days. The body from Westchester keeps them busy at work, too tired to do much when they get home besides curl up and watch some TV before falling asleep. It must be because they’re so out of practice. Late nights don’t happen when all you’ve got is cold cases.

Friday comes and late in the afternoon they receive word that another body is coming in for them that needs to be autopsied immediately. Jimmy asks Brian if he wants to cancel their usual Wolf Trap evening. “We’re both exhausted. We could take a week off.”

Brian considers this, imagining an early evening, Chinese take-out, maybe taking a long, hot shower with Jimmy, then cuddling together...but shakes his head. “I’d rather not,” Brian tells him. “A week can become two, or more. We’re not going to make any breakthroughs unless we keep working. We can finish here by seven if we focus.”

Jimmy mutters something under his breath that Brian doesn’t catch, but he doesn’t fight Brian on this. So they pile into Brian’s car late in the evening, much later than usual, bone-tired and reticent to talk. The sky is dark, a moonless March night.

The nearly forty miles from Quantico to the Wolf Trap exit roll by, and the exit turns into a little-traveled byway about ten miles from Will’s house. The only other car is a speck in their rear-view mirror, and the trees surrounding the road block out any other sights or sounds. Brian always feels like they’ve left humanity behind when they come up here. Other than the deer that have a tendency to jump onto the road suddenly, force him to drive under 40 just to be safe, the woods are silent, foreboding.

“Did Kade talk to you as well?” Jimmy asks, cutting through the silence.

Brian nods, steering the car around a dead squirrel. “Yeah. I’m guessing she made you the same offer she made me.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Jimmy says slowly, emphasizing his words. “Some of what she said… it made sense, farther removed from events.”

The SUV behind them has sped up, closing the distance rapidly. The driver flashes, then leaves on the high beams. Brian frowns, rolling down his window and waving the driver on. It’s a one-lane highway on each side, but legal to cross over to pass someone. “I have admit it kind of does,” Brian says, rolling his window back up. “I’m not sure I completely agree, but the offer is tempting.”

“Will would hate us,” Jimmy muses. “Probably never speak to us again. Might be worth it, though.”

“I don’t know, Jim. I feel like we’re so close to putting it all together,” Brian says. The driver hasn’t gone around them, and the other car is getting closer, high-beams making Brian squint and duck his head to avoid the glare. _What the hell dude… asshole tailgaters_ , Brian thinks. He takes his foot off the gas so the SUV will get the message and pass. He can’t see the other driver through the tinted windows. “I don’t think Hannibal would’ve sent us that warning if we were far off.”

“But that was quite a while ago,” Jimmy counters. “We haven’t heard anything since-”

_CRUNCH-_ The front of the other car collides with his back bumper. “What the fuck?!” he shouts, stepping on the gas to speed up as Jimmy lets out a yelp. “You okay?” Brian asks.

“Yeah!” Jimmy says, breathing hard. “Just scared the shit out of me. What the hell was that?”

“An idiot, or someone with a temper,” Brian says, pulling over onto the dirt on the side of the highway. The other driver pulls onto the dirt as well; Brian thinks he’s going to stop, hopefully to apologize and exchange insurance information. But when Brian presses the brake, the other car keeps going, and Brian has to yank the wheel to the left to put them back on the highway, lest they be hit again. And then the other driver gets right back behind them.

“Brian!” Jimmy grips the center console, looking back through the rear window, voice tinged with panic. “What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know!” Brian says, pressing the gas. The numbers tick up: 45, 46, 47… The other driver is speeding up as well. The front lights of the other car are shattered, but the bulbs inside are still working, and the high-beams stay on. Brian swerves the car to the left and then the right, but the other car just follows them, blocking the road off behind them, and continuing to speed up.

“He’s trying to force us off the road!” Jimmy shouts.

“He already did that! And now he won’t let us slow down…” _He’s trying to get us to crash,_ Brian thinks, the fear setting in a moment later _. The wheels won’t grip the road at this speed once we hit the dirt and start having to make turns._ “Get Will on the phone. Tell him what’s going on.”

“Don’t go faster than you need to,” Jimmy warns, pulling out his cell. “You remember your training for high-speed chases?”

“I think so,” Brian says, starting to weave back and forth between the left and right lanes. The movement will make it harder for the other driver to force them to speed up. They’re still at least five miles from the dirt road, but the stretch of that dirt road is two miles long, a winding path surrounded by gullies and ditches, easy for a car to drop into if they take a turn too hard.

“-get in the car now, Will!” Jimmy is yelling into the phone. Brian’s swerving is working, but they’re still slowly going faster. They hit 50, and Brian sees the sign ahead: DIRT ROAD, THREE MILES, SLOW TO 25MPH.

“He’s got three minutes,” Brian says. “Maybe a little more. Does he know how to block in a speeding car to slow it down?” Brian’s sedan isn’t big enough to stop an SUV; they’ll skid off the road and wrap around a tree if they try. But if Will can get behind the other car, they’ll be able to hold it bumper to bumper and control its movement together. Then Brian and Will can both slowly apply the brakes and come to a stop.

_We need some road distance if we’re gonna do that,_ Brian thinks. _Hurry up, Graham, please…_

Two minutes pass, and they’re up to 55. Brian is looking for spots in the distance where they could minimize the damage of a crash, when two headlights appear in the distance, and Will’s car comes streaking down the road on the opposite side. Brian swerves his car back into the right lane as Will zooms past them, and Brian can hear Will’s tires squealing and screeching as he slams on the brakes and artfully spins the car around behind them. _Where the hell did Graham learn how to do that?!_

They pass the 1 mile marker, and Brian stays to the right, watching Will’s car gunning towards them, catching up. They’re up to 60, and Brian can see the end of the highway coming up. Will has pulled up alongside the other driver, and rolled down his passenger side window.  “Tell Will to get behind the other guy,” Brian says. “We can-”

Both Jimmy and Brian scream when they hear a loud gunshot, and it’s a miracle that Brian keeps the car on the road. The back left window of the mystery car has been blown out, glass shattering onto the road behind. The other car slams on its brakes, finally giving Brian the distance needed to slow down.

All three cars come to a stop, and Brian jumps out of the car at the same time as Will, who emerges with shotgun in hand. “Get back in the car!” Will yells, aiming the gun over the hood of his car and shooting towards the SUV. The buckshot sprays the road about a foot from the SUV’s back tire.

Obviously, the driver gets the message, because they jerk the SUV around and go zooming away down the road. Brian watches them speed away as his heart starts slowing down. He looks back in the car at Jimmy, who has a death grip around the handle of the passenger door, eyes wide in terror. “Are you okay?” Brian asks, panting.

Jimmy nods, letting out a harsh breath. “Is it safe to get out?”

“I think so.” Brian looks over to Will, who is walking towards them as Jimmy gets out and comes around to the driver’s side. “You couldn’t have warned us you were pulling out live ammunition?”

“No time,” Will says. He’s loading more shells into the gun barrel as he meets them in the middle of the road. “It’s a good thing he stopped on the warning shot. I have my service weapon too; the next shot would’ve been into the driver’s window.”

“Jesus…” Brian leans back against the car, reaching out to take Jimmy’s hand. “I think this is what being in shock feels like…”

“You’re both okay, though?” Will asks.

“I think so,” Jimmy says, gripping Brian’s hand tightly. “The car though…”

“I just made the last damn payment on this thing, fuck!” Brian says. “Hopefully the frame didn’t get bent by the initial impact…”

Will opens his own car door and pulls out the aforementioned pistol, handing it over to Jimmy. “I’m assuming you both left yours at home,” he says. “Follow me to the house. Keep that gun ready to fire.”

Thankfully, the drive to the house goes without incident. But when they pull up to the front of the building, there’s a package sitting on the front steps.

“Was that there when you left?” Brian asks as they all approach the house.

“No,” Will says, holding a hand out to stop them all. “I’ve never seen that thing before.”

“It could be a bomb,” Jimmy points out. “I can call the bomb squad to get down here.”

“If this is Hannibal, I doubt he’s going to be that gauche,” Brian says. Explosions are too... messy for his style.”

“He very likely just tried to wrap us around a tree, Brian! I don’t think he’s going for subtle!”

“Quiet. Both of you,” Will says, stepping towards the box. He squats down, putting his ear close. “No ticking.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not a bomb,” Jimmy says. “Letter bombs don’t necessarily have to tick… neither do package bombs.”

Will waves them back, pulling out a pocket knife and digging it into the tape on the top of the box. Brian holds his breath as Will peels the cardboard back, but nothing explodes.

“What’s in the box?” Brian asks. Will doesn’t answer, still staring down inside. “Will? What is it?”

Will picks up the box and walks back over to them, leaving the top of it closed. “Come into the house,” he says. “I don’t know if we’re safe out here.”

They go inside. The dogs are barking and pacing, clearly agitated by something. Brian calms the dogs down while Will and Jimmy search the house, returning to the living room after a few moments.

“All clear,” Jimmy says, handing the pistol back to Will. “Now what’s in the package?”

Will ushers them over to the coffee table. He opens the box, and carefully lifts an object from inside. He sets down a heart: large, dripping with what is most definitely blood, and undoubtedly from a real animal. Whether it’s human or not, Brian can’t tell. There is a tag tied around the ascending aorta, and typed on the tag are the words “TO WILL, FROM HANNIBAL.”

“Well, that certainly leaves no doubt as to where the car came from,” Jimmy says.

“You don’t think he was in the SUV, do you?” Brian asks.

“Unlikely,” Will says. “Probably someone he hired. There’s more, though.” He reaches back into the package, and pulls out a small gift box, stained with blood from the heart. Brian feels like he’s seen it somewhere before.

Will lifts the lid and frowns. “What- I have no idea what this is…”

Jimmy and Will both look over when Brian lets out a gasp, eyes wide as he gapes at the box. “That’s-” He stares at the small golden necklace inside the box… with a small golden violin pendant hanging from the chain. “That’s been under my bed for the last year!” _Oh my god,_ Brian thinks. _They were in my house._

“There’s one more thing…” Will pulls last item out: a plastic packet of photographs. He wipes away the blood from the top of the packet with his hand, then shakes the pictures out onto the coffee table. "Oh. Shit. _Shit._ "

The pictures have been taken with a telescoping lens, and every single one shows a view through the window of this very room they’re standing in. The shots have obviously been taken at various times during the year: snow covers the ground in several photos, while early spring grass and foliage appears in others. Sometimes you can see people moving about inside the house: Brian, Jimmy and Will all show up, as well as Freddie Lounds in one case.

The last photograph, though, grabs Brian's attention the most. Tree branches frame the image, obscure parts of it, but Will, Brian and Jimmy's faces are in sharp focus through the window. There is a large X in red marker over both Brian and Jimmy’s faces, and Will’s face is circled several times.

Brian feels like he’s about to pass out. He drops into the chair by the door to avoid this, staring silently at the objects on the table.

_He wants us dead. He tried to kill us tonight, or maybe just warn us. He can get into my house without my knowing; I didn’t find any broken windows or locks. Someone could’ve been in the house with us this whole time; while we ate, while we slept, while we made love… we never would’ve known._

“Brian…” He looks up, and Jimmy is looking at him, tears in his eyes. “Enough. Of all of this.”

“You’re both staying here tonight,” Will says, putting the items back in the box. He brings the package into the kitchen, and returns with a wet cloth, two coffee cups, and the necklace in a plastic baggie that he hands to Brian, who pockets it for now. Will wipes the blood off the coffee table, then straightens up. “We’ll take shifts. Sleep in here, and the dogs will warn us if anyone is outside.” He hands Brian and Jimmy each a cup. “Close all the curtains, and make sure everything is locked. I’m going to make some coffee.”

Jimmy won’t let Brian out of his sight, so they move through the house together, making sure every window is bolted, every curtain closed, every door shut and locked tightly. They block the back door with chairs, and by the time they come back to the living room, Will has his coffee pot plugged into the wall, and a full pot brewing.

“I’ll take the first shift,” Will says, flicking off all the lights. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you in three hours.”

Brian and Jimmy stretch out on the pull out bed, wrapped tightly around each other. The only sounds are the tick of the clock on the wall, the dogs shifting on the floor, and Will’s chair rocking back and forth.

“I’m scared, Zee,” Jimmy mumbles, head pressed against Brian’s shoulder. “Honest to god, terrified.”

“I know. I am too.” Brian strokes a hand down Jimmy’s back, wide awake. There’s no way he’s going to be able to fall asleep right now. Probably not all night. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

He knows then, that this can’t be the end of it all. If Hannibal is still free, they’ll never be safe.

 

~

 

Brian sleeps in fits and starts, slipping into unconsciousness when the adrenaline has worn off, only to wake up in a panic minutes or hours later. It’s almost a relief when Will asks him to take over the watch around two in the morning. Jimmy is still fast asleep, so Brian sits up with Jimmy’s head in his lap, listening to the sounds of crickets and panting dogs. The pistol lays on the bed, inches from his fingers, close enough to grab with a moment’s notice. He takes deep breaths to keep calm, stroking his hand through Jimmy’s hair, the other man’s warmth a grounding presence.

Jimmy rouses around five am, takes one look at Brian’s bloodshot eyes and drooping posture, and forces him to lie down. This time, pure exhaustion allows him to fall asleep, head on Jimmy’s knee.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s around eight. The sun is shining brightly through the windows, and the dogs are running laps around the house outside. Soft voices murmur from the kitchen, stopping when the bed creaks as Brian gets off of it.

Jimmy comes out holding a steaming mug, handing it to Brian. “Looks like we’re in the clear for now,” Jimmy says. “Will got a look at the license plate of that driver last night. I think we should try to convince Prurnell to put out an APB. If nothing else, she’ll see it as a valuable lead for the Lecter investigation.”

“Agreed,” Brian says, sipping the coffee and moving over to the door. He grips the handle, then hesitates. “Did you…”

“It’s safe,” Jimmy says, resting a hand on his shoulder. “No one around for miles. We should consider getting a dog, they make great alarm systems.”

Brian steps outside and walks over to his car. In the light of day, the damage looks a bit grisly: smashed tail-lights, several dents in the bumper, scratches all up and down the paint. But he thinks a mechanic will confirm that the frame wasn’t bent. They got off lucky. The car isn’t totaled, and neither were they.

“Will offered to host us for a few more days,” Jimmy says, coming up next to Brian. “I’m honestly considering it.”

“What’s a few days going to matter? Hannibal has all the time in the world right now. And what’s to say he won’t try to kill us here?” Brian shakes his head, heading back to the house. “Let’s go back to my house for now. We’ve got the day off. We can talk it over.”

Will escorts them back to the highway, and in the bright light of morning, the road seems much less dangerous. A few of Will’s neighbors are on the road, probably heading off to work, so they aren’t quite as lonely as before. Brian is still exhausted, but alert; they’re accustomed to being on call, often woken up in the dead of night to fly out to a crime scene.

“I’m installing an alarm system,” Jimmy says after a few minutes of silence. “You’re installing one too. And I was serious about the dog.”

“Agreed. Keep your service weapon on you at all times from now on.”

“That necklace that was in the box...” Jimmy frowns, clearing putting thing together. “Was it for Bev?”

Brian feels his neck flushing, and as he shifts in his seat, he feels the weight of said necklace in his pocket. He nods, keeping his eyes on the road. “Was going to be her birthday present. Never got to give it to her.”

“It looked expensive.”

“It… I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

They don’t speak much for the rest of the drive back. When they pull up to Brian’s house, it looks undisturbed, but they’re not going to take any chances. Jimmy borrowed Will’s shotgun, so they move from room to room, carefully checking for intruders. Relief floods Brian’s very soul when he finds that his service weapon is still in the gun safe. He holsters it after loading a clip.

“You should text Jack,” Jimmy says, sitting on the end of Brian’s bed. “Make sure he’s okay, tell him what’s going on.”

“I will do that in a bit,” Brian says, sitting next to him. “We should all meet, honestly. Plan our next move.”

“I think Jack can set up his own security system, Brian. And I think Bella is allergic to dogs…”

“Not what I meant. Maybe Jack can put us directly in contact with his INTERPOL people. He might not be asking the right questions…”

Jimmy frowns, pursing his lips. “What the hell are you talking about, Zee? There is no next move. We agreed last night; this investigation is over.”

“Over?” Brian raises an eyebrow. “How can this be over? Lecter tried to kill us. He’s going to keep trying until we catch him.”

Jimmy’s mouth pops open. “Are you- are you _insane_? If we don’t stop, he will _kill_ us.”

“We can’t throw away nine months of work, Jim!” Brian says, sweeping his hand out as if the body of their work is spread before them.

“We can if it’s going to get us killed, Brian!” Jimmy says, slapping his palm against his knee.

“You can’t be chickening out this easily,” Brian says, shaking his head and standing up, walking out into the hall. “I’m going to make coffee.”

Jimmy follows him down the hall, shouting after him. “I can’t believe you! Did _anything_ that happened last night penetrate your stubborn, pigheaded mind? Do you remember what happens to people who try to beat Hannibal at his own game?”

“ _I remember perfectly well!_ ” Brian yells, rounding on Jimmy, clenching his fists. “And that’s exactly the reason we did all of this!”

Jimmy looks shocked, but it wears off quickly, and he strides over to jab a finger into Brian’s chest. “You’re going to get yourself killed avenging a dead woman!”

Brian smacks his hand away, glaring. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you? Does she mean _nothing_ to you anymore?”

Jimmy makes a sudden movement, sliding his hand into Brian’s pocket and yanking out the baggie with the necklace, waving it in Brian’s face. “Apparently not as much as she meant to _you_. Or do you buy thousand dollar presents for all your female friends? Am I just a way for you to try and forget her? Because I seem to be doing a pretty shitty job of it!”

Brian feels his blood run cold. He snatches the baggie from Jimmy’s hand and shoves it back into his pocket. “I can’t believe you’d even _think_ that.”

“What am I supposed to think, Brian?” Jimmy spits out, face flushing to a dark, angry red. “You don’t keep a present for your dead friend hidden from your boyfriend unless it _means_ something!”

“I didn’t keep it because I was in love with her!” Brian rubs his eyes, swallowing down his frustration. “I kept it to remind myself that I _wasn’t!_ That I didn’t know her as well as I thought, and when she needed me, needed _us_ , we failed her!”

“She wouldn’t want you to _die_ for her, Brian,” Jimmy barks, following Brian as he storms into the living room. “When did you turn into a martyr?”

“When did you turn into a _coward?!_ ” Brian regrets the words the moment they leave his lips, but he can’t back down right now. Why can’t Jimmy see how important this is? Not just to their own personal safety, but to setting right the wrongs Hannibal Lecter has committed.

Jimmy is trembling, face contorted into a pained expression, fury glinting in his eyes. Brian wants to walk over and hold Jimmy, comfort him, make him see reason, but Brian is pretty sure he’ll get punched in the mouth if he tries it.

“I can’t- I almost drank myself into a _coma_ when she died,” Jimmy says, voice low and hollow. “So don’t you _dare_ tell me I didn’t love her enough. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to throw the rest of my life away by provoking a madman. I knew this was a terrible plan when we started, but I went along with it because I wanted to have your back. And now I’m _begging_ you, Brian, to let it go!”

“How can I let it go, Jim?” Brian croaks. “How could I spend the rest of my life knowing I didn’t give my all to see her avenged?”

“ _Because you’d spend it with me!_ ” Jimmy yells, shaking as he starts to cry. “Because letting this go doesn’t mean forgetting Beverly! It just means not letting the last _two years_ dominate the rest of our lives!”

Brian swallows, pressing a hand to his face. “Jim, I can’t… I _can’t._ I’m sorry.”

Jimmy takes a gasping breath, nodding and wiping his eyes. “Fine. Then do what you have to. But I won’t help you kill yourself, Zee. And I won’t be there to watch you do it.” He snatches his car keys from the coffee table.

“Jim, wait!” But Jimmy is already out the front door. Brian hears the engine on his car turn over, and his tires squealing as he speeds away.

Brian sinks down onto the coffee table, hands pressed over his mouth. The yawning maw in his chest has reopened, threatening to swallow him up. He whispers words he knows Jimmy can’t hear right now.

“ _Please don’t make me do this alone..._ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN! And now it all comes to a head!
> 
> Comments and fair criticism always welcome, marvelous readers!


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

The wind has gotten brisk, bending the trees sideways, and grey clouds are covering the sky: all the signs of an approaching storm. Brian has the engine gunned and the siren running, causing waves of cars to part in his path. _Please be okay_ , he thinks, repeating the phrase over and over again. _I’m just overreacting. I have to be._

Brian texted Jack earlier, but he never returned the message, and all of Brian’s phone calls just went to voicemail. So now he’s speeding over to Jack’s house, and praying that Jack’s phone is dead, or stuffed between the couch cushions, or he’s just not bothering to answer. Brian knows his boss sometimes likes to ignore people,and ordinarily it’s a habit Brian admires. But right now it’s a terrifying pain in the ass.

Jack’s car isn’t on the street or in the driveway when Brian pulls up to the house. The garage is a possibility, but Brian can’t see it through the opaque windows on the garage door. He emerges from his vehicle quickly, hand on his holster, and sprints up the front steps, ringing the doorbell and then knocking rapidly on the wood. There’s no sounds coming from the house, so he presses on the doorbell several times in succession, then pounds harder with his fist. “Come on, Jack, open up!”

Finally, there is movement, the sound of floorboards creaking with slow footsteps. Brian shifts to the side, away from the door, just in case any bullets start flying through the wood _. Bulletproof vest won’t work if someone shoots me in the head,_ he thinks.

The door creaks open very slightly, only an inch or so. “Hello? Who’s out there?”

Brian recognizes the soft, rasping voice. “Bella, it’s me,” he replies. “Brian Zeller. Are you alone? Is Jack home with you?”

The door chain rattles, and then Bella opens up the door fully, looking out at him. She holds her thin housecoat close at her throat with a emaciated hand, her thinning hair pulled back into a scarf. “Jack went on a camping trip with his bowling group for the weekend. They leave their phones off except for emergencies.”

Brian lets out a sigh of relief, taking his hand off his gun. “Thank god… sorry. I thought he might’ve been…” _Been what?,_ he thinks. _What could I say that would make any sense?_

Bella gives him a searching look, forehead wrinkling. “Would you like to come in, Brian? Let me know what this is all about? Maybe explain why you’d have a reason to think my husband was in danger?”

“Yeah. I guess I should… Would you mind terribly if I searched the house? Just in case?” He breaks out into a sheepish grin when she frowns. “Please?”

Bella sighs. “Alright. Just take your shoes off. And that vest. I don’t let Jack wear his work gear in the house either. He brings enough of his work home with him in other ways.”

Brian gives the house a quick once over. He doesn’t ask to search the bedroom; he knows she’s probably been up there all day, so there’s no need. When he’s done, he comes down to find her making tea for herself, and coffee for him.

“You don’t have to…” he says, trailing off when she stares at him. “Never mind then. Coffee would be great.” Bella can be just as intimidating as her husband when she wants to. More so, since Brian doesn’t know her as well. They’ve talked at holiday parties and department events, but it’s not like Jack invites Brian over his house for poker every week

Bella hands him a cup, and they seat themselves in the living room.

“So what were you doing at my front door wearing riot gear, Brian?” Bella asks, sipping her tea, expression neutral.

“There was an incident last night,” Brian says. “Someone came after Jimmy and Will and myself.” Bella’s eyebrows go up, and she lowers her cup. “We’re alright, but I was worried Jack could also be a target.”

“Hannibal,” Bella says. Brian nods. “Now I’m starting to understand why Jack secludes himself when you call.” Her eyes search him, probably noting the tension in his face, the dark circles under his eyes. “You’re still trying to find him, aren’t you?”

Brian’s mouth pops open, and he quickly shuts it to avoiding gaping like a fool. “He… Jack never told you?”

“He’s always been protective of me,” Bella says, drumming her fingers on the tea cup. “More so now than ever. I imagine he thought if I knew what he was up to, it would cause me undue stress.”

“Shi- uh, shoot… You couldn’t maybe not tell him that I told you, could you?” Brian asks. Bella gives him a look. “Right, sorry. Stupid of me to ask you to lie to your husband.”

“Yes, it is. But Jack should’ve told me about this in the first place. It’s more stressful to not know what he’s doing...”

The conversation is halted for a moment when Bella goes into a coughing fit. Tea slops over the side of her cup as she places it on the side table, lest she drop it onto her lap. Brian isn’t sure what to do, but she holds a hand out to stop him from getting up. After a moment, the fit subsides.

“You alright?” Brian asks.

Bella nods. “They come and go. Nothing immediate to worry about. You said Jack was working on this with you and Jimmy and Will?”

“Yeah.” Brian shifts in his chair, unsure of how much to tell her. _The cat’s out of the bag anyway,_ he thinks. _What’s the harm?_ “Jimmy and I have been going to Will’s place on Friday nights. We use the information Jack gives us from his contacts to piece together Hannibal’s trail. Last night, someone tried to run Jimmy and me off the road.”

“You’re both alright though? Neither of you are hurt?”

“Physically, no.”

“Emotionally?”

“A little freaked out, yeah.” He glances down, picking at a loose thread on the fabric of his pants.

“I can imagine,” Bella says. “So you assumed Jack was in the same danger. But we haven’t had any intruders in the house, and Jack called me about an hour ago to see how I was feeling. We’re both fine.”

“Yeah. Guess I overreacted.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. We both know how Hannibal reacts when he’s cornered.” Bella clasps her hands, shifting in her seat. “Is Jack in danger again, Brian? Please be honest.”

Brian swallows, and nods mutely. “I think so. I think we all are.”

Bella lets out a strained laugh. “I shouldn't be surprised, really. Jack never does understand when to let something go. He’s the most stubborn man I’ve ever known.” She smiles. “I love that about him, though.”

“Jack wants justice, same as the rest of us,” Brian says.

“Justice is a lovely concept,but only  in theory.” Bella shakes her head, her mouth a tight line. “I saw how haggard Jack looked last year. How he carried that weight, because he thought he had to. He almost died because of it. Justice doesn’t seem to be worth it when the price is that high.”

“It can’t be too high, can it?” Brian asks. He’s not sure if he’s being rhetorical or if he’s really asking her. “If you’re doing what’s right.”

“Really?” There’s a fierce undertone to Bella’s voice, and she leans in, one hand gripping the arm of her chair tightly. “Is it worth sacrificing all four of your lives? Dying for your loved ones won’t bring them back.”

Brian frowns, pushing away his temper; it’s already caused enough trouble today. “So we just give up? Let Hannibal walk away, after all he’s done?”

“What’s the point of winning one battle if you lose the war, Brian? Jack and I have a short time left together. Why should we give any more of that time to Hannibal Lecter than we already have? And why should the rest of your life or Will’s life or Jimmy’s life be dictated by that man?”

Brian opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn’t have one. He closes it, frowning down at his coffee cup. Everything made sense before this. Every reason that he told himself, that he told Jimmy, they all seemed necessary. He was angry that Jimmy doubted his loyalty again, maybe so angry that he couldn’t listen. Now he doesn’t know what to think.

Finally, he speaks. “I had this same conversation with Jim this morning. He’s… He’s not happy with me right now.”

“Are you two…” Brian looks up. Bella seems like she’s trying to confirm what she’s figured out. _Are we really that obvious?_ Brian thinks. “He wants to stop searching for Hannibal?”

“He wants the both of us to,” Brian says. “He said he won’t stand by and watch me get myself killed.”

“He’s a smart man,” Bella says. “You should listen to him.”

Brian takes a deep breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever hurt him this badly. I don’t know what to say to him to make it better.”

“You’ll be alright. It’s easiest to forgive the people you love.” Bella stands up, wrapping her arms around herself. “I need to rest now. I’ll have Jack call you when he gets back.”

Brian stands as well, following her to the door. “Thank you,” he says, giving her a gentle hug. “For the coffee, and the talk.”

Bella kisses his cheek, patting his arm. “You go be with your man. Drive safe, it looks like a storm is brewing.”

When he gets back in the car, he pulls out his phone to call Jimmy, but there’s a voicemail on it from Will. Brian frowns and presses play.

_“Zeller, I need a favor. I’d rather not talk over the phone, though, so I need you to come to Wolf Trap. I called Jimmy, but he refuses to come. Did you get into another fight? Anyway, call me when you get this.”_

Damn it. He wanted to drive over to Jimmy’s house right now, but there’s an urgency in Will’s voice that he can’t ignore. _This had better be important,_ Brian thinks, pulling up his messaging app. He texts Will that he’s on his way. Then he sends one to Jimmy:

_need to talk to you. never meant to hurt you. going to wolf trap. meet me there, please?_

Brian waits a few minutes, but he gets no response. The clouds are opening up, rain beating against his windshield. If he waits too much longer, it’s going to get dark, and the road to Will’s house will become impassable.

_I hope you’ll listen to me,_ Brian thinks, pulling out of the Crawfords’ driveway. _You’re better at listening than I am._

 

~

 

The rain is coming down in torrential sheets by the time Brian makes it to Will’s house. The sun has set, and Brian uses the last fading rays of light to make his way up to the porch, blocking the rain with his jacket as best he can. He’s soaked through anyway when he gets under the overhang.

He hits the door with big, pounding knocks to sound over the shrieking winds. Thankfully, Will opens the door in mere moments, ushering Brian into the warmth of the house. “I really hope you’ve got a spare shirt,” Brian says, shivering as he shucks his jacket off. “And I hope you didn’t call me here for nothing.”

“I’ll get you a flannel. It’s probably the only thing of mine that’ll fit you,” Will says.

When Will disappears up the stairs, Brian looks around and notices the changed state of the living room. The bulletin board that has dominated the central space for months has been taken down, and all the documents and photos are tucked into binders stacked on the coffee table. There are piles of clothing bunched on the couch, and a suitcase flipped open on the armchair, half-packed with shirts and toiletries.

“Are you going somewhere?” Brian asks when Will comes down the stairs. He hands Brian a flannel button-down.

“That’s why I called you,” Will says, moving over to the couch to sort clothing. The dogs are pacing and darting around the house. Panting and whining, the animals are obviously spooked by the thunder and lighting that gets louder and brighter with each crack and flash. “I need you to watch the dogs again.”

“Where are you going?” Brian asks, peeling his wet shirt off and shrugging the flannel over his shoulders. “How long are you going to be gone?”

Will’s hands still as he pulls a pair of jeans from the pile. “I’m not sure,” he says after a beat. “As long as it takes, I suppose.”

Brian frowns, pausing at the last two buttons. “As long as what takes?” Will remains silent, just strides about the room, packing, and Brian looks from the binders to the suitcase, and suddenly the answer to the question is obvious. “You’re going after Hannibal... By yourself. You can’t be serious?”

“Last night was a warning,” Will says, folding a collared shirt and tucking it away. “But it was also a message.”

“Yeah, a message that if we don’t stop, Hannibal will kill us,” Brian says.

“No.” Will shakes his head, turning to face Brian. “He doesn’t want you and Jimmy coming after him. He just wants _me_. That’s why he circled my face in that photo. That’s why he sent me that heart. _His_ heart. It came from a stag, did you know that? I found fur on the bottom of the box and bits of pelt.” Will picks up a pile of binders and stuffs them into the suitcase. “This has always been between Hannibal and myself. Nobody else is worthy enough in his eyes.”

“He’s manipulating you, Will.” The package is still sitting on the coffee table, now sans-heart, Will must’ve thankfully disposed of it. Brian plucks the aforementioned photograph out of the packet, holding it up. “You see this? He wants to draw you out, wants to isolate you so that when he comes for you, you’ll be easy prey.” He tosses the photograph down onto the coffee table. “He’s trying to provoke you!”

“If that was what he wanted, he did a great job of it.” Will zips up the suitcase. “He’s going to have me right where he wants me.”

Brian grabs Will’s shoulder as he passes, and urges, “Will, listen to me. _please_. We can go to Prurnell, show her what we have. We’re so close, the BAU must have the pieces we’re missing. You don’t have to do this alone-”

“Brian.” Will looks him dead in the eye, and extracts Brian’s hand from his shoulder. “I do have to. The only reason Hannibal ever came into your lives is because I agreed to a task I wasn’t stable enough to do. Abigail and Beverly are dead because of me. I gambled with their lives, and they lost. And _nothing_ you say will convince me of otherwise. So yes, I have to be the one to do this. I won’t let Hannibal hurt anyone else I care about again. Not Jack, not Alana, not Jimmy, and not you.”

“Will…” Will has never looked so sure of himself, in all the time that Brian has known him. There’s a certainty in his gaze and a hard set to his jaw; a refusal to discuss the matter further. Brian could make compelling arguments against Will’s decision to leave for days, but he realizes that Will won’t change his mind.

Will tenses up when Brian pulls him into a hug, and Brian realizes a moment too late that this gesture may have been rashly presumptive on his part, but Will relaxes after a moment, returning the gesture. Brian feels the bile rising in his throat with the knowledge of what sort of danger Will is voluntarily putting himself in.

“Will you come back?” Brian murmurs.

Will is silent for a moment. “I’ll try to,” he replies after a beat.

They step apart. Will’s lips quirk up in a sad smile. “You’ve got a big house, right?”

“It’s decently sized, yeah,” Brian says, nodding.

“Good.” Will motions to the dogs. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, so I need these guys to live with you for a while.”

Brian sighs. “I guess I can handle that. But you can’t leave them with me forever. They’re still your dogs, not mine.”

Will nods. “I’m not going to go with him willingly, Brian. I promise.” Brian isn’t sure he completely believes Will, but it’s the best he’s going to get.

“When are you leaving, then?” Brian asks.

“Tomorrow. I’m going to stop by Alana’s house to say goodbye, ask her to do a few things for me. Then I’ll be on a plane.” Will picks up the pile of clothing he didn’t pack. “You’re probably going to be stuck here tonight. We can take shifts like last night.”

Will goes up to put the clothes away, and Brian is setting up the sofa bed when he hears commotion out on the patio, and knocking on the door. There are two likely options for who that is. Either one of Hannibal’s lackeys has gotten really cocky, or… Brian peeks through the eyehole, and then whips the door open.

“Come on Will! Open the goddamn- oh.” Jimmy stares at him, twisting the umbrella he’s holding between his fists. “I got your text.”

“Get in here before you freeze,” Brian says, stepping aside, giving Jimmy a wide berth to enter.

“Is that one of Will’s shirts?” Jimmy asks as Brian shuts the door. “Yours are usually a little less…”

“Wrinkled to hell and back? Yeah, I wasn’t smart enough to wear a rain jacket like you.” Brian motions to the jacket Jimmy is peeling off. “I’m amazed you got here with the rain this bad. The road must be a mess by now.”

“I drove slowly,” Jimmy replies distractedly. He turns to look at Brian, folding his arms, then unfolding them to shove his hands into his pockets, like he doesn’t know where to put them. He looks steadily at a fixed point on the floor, clearing his throat. “We’re stuck here for the night, I think. Road’s almost impassable.”

“Brian, who was at the- oh, Jimmy, you came.” Will pauses on the bottom step of the staircase. He looks between Jimmy and Brian, and turns back around. “I’ll give you two a minute,” he says, heading back upstairs.

Their eyes meet and they stare at each other for a tense moment. Jimmy breaks away first and looks over at bulletin board. “He’s leaving, isn’t he?” Jimmy asks, eyes clouded with worry. “Are you…” He glances quickly at Brian, his lips parted, then becomes completely still. “Are you going with him?”

Brian raises an eyebrow. “What? Jim, come on, you think I’m about to run off to Europe with Graham?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Jimmy says. “Staying here won’t help you catch Hannibal. If you’re really serious about continuing this chase, then this is the next step. ”

“Jim…” Brian steps closer to him, resting his hands on Jimmy’s shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“So then... what did you want to talk about?” Jimmy asks. His shoulders are tense, muscles tight under Brian’s hands. Like he’s bracing for something disastrous.

Brian draws Jimmy over to the couch, sitting cross-legged on the cushion to face him. “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s never a good thing. You might burn up the last working brain cells you have.”

Brian smiles, pleased to see a hint of one on Jimmy’s lips as well. “Yeah, well, I had a conversation that helped put things into perspective.”

“Oh? Such as?” Jimmy asks.

“First…. I’m sorry, Brian says. “I didn’t want to hear what you had to say because it was the truth, and I couldn’t handle that. I’ve been wrapped up in this case for so long, I couldn’t see when it was time to lay it to rest.”

Jimmy lets out a deep breath, and the tension in his shoulders dissipates. “Thank you,” he says, reaching out to cup Brian’s hand in his lap. “So does that mean we’re done with all this?”

“For now.” Brian says. “This isn’t the last we’ll see of Lecter, most likely. You know that. But no more late nights holed up here at Wolf Trap. And none at my house or your house either, _I promise_. We’ll give everything we have to Prurnell and call it done for now.” Brian threads his fingers between Jimmy’s, hesitating before speaking again. “The question is, where does that leave us?”

A line was crossed. They must both realize it, Brian supposes. Through all of the nightmare of the last year, there was never any doubt of the reason why they were continuing to pursue Lecter. To accuse Jimmy of not really caring about Beverly, of cowardice in facing her killer… it’s inexcusable. Brian would understand if Jimmy can’t forgive him for that. He’d understand if they can’t go back to what they were.

Brian remembers what Jimmy said to him months ago, lying together after their first encounter: _I’d rather have half of what I want from you than lose all of it._ Now he understands just how painful that idea is. No more nights wrapped around one another, ignoring the rest of the world. No more kisses snuck in hallways and stairwells at work. No more whispered pronouncements of _love_ and _forever_ in the twilight hours, when their deepest reserves are stripped away.

Brian knows he can never go back to having half of what they have. Having half might as well be losing all of it.

“You hurt me,” Jimmy says. Brian cringes. “I haven’t felt that utterly betrayed in years. Maybe my whole life, and I’ve had plenty of people let me down. Where do you think it should leave us?”

“I can’t- I don’t know, Jim,” Brian says. “All I know is… there was a moment last night where I thought we were goners. And the only thing I could think was: _at least I’m with Jimmy at the end_. I don’t want that to change. I still want to be with you at the end, whenever it is. But I can’t make you want the same..”

Jimmy reaches out to cup Brian’s cheek. “You can’t make me want that, yes. But you don’t have to. I already wanted it. That’s never going to change.” He leans forward, brushing his lips against Brian’s.

“You mean it?” Brian mumbles, a flood of relief washing over him.

“We’re both human, Zee,” Jimmy says, resting his forehead against Brian’s. “I’ve hurt you too, more times than I can count, many times over this past year. And you keep forgiving me for it. We’re going to be hurting and forgiving each other the rest of our lives. It’s what you do when you love someone.”

Brian grabs Jimmy around the waist and hoists him onto his lap, Jimmy’s legs around Brian’s hips. It’s a position that’s usually suitable for baser needs, but the closeness seems more intensely intimate while fully clothed. Brian wraps his arms around Jimmy’s back and presses his face to Jimmy’s chest, reveling in the warmth the other man radiates, so grateful he isn’t going to lose this wonderful human being. Jimmy’s hands rest on Brian’s back, and he presses a kiss to the top of Brian’s head.

They stay like that for a long while, not speaking. The rain has slowed down, now a pleasant drumming as opposed to a cacophonous pounding. One or two of the dogs whimper, and shift positions on the floor. Brian presses his ear right over Jimmy’s heart, and listens to it beat, strong and steady and grounding.

“I’m so tired, Jim,” Brian murmurs, hating to break the silence. “I feel like I haven’t really rested in... months, maybe longer than that.”

“It’s been a long year,” Jimmy replies, hand stroking a soothing trail up and down Brian’s back. “But maybe a good one, when everything is said and done.”

When Will comes downstairs later, he finds them curled together, fast asleep, finally at rest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow I'll be posting the epilogue! Thank you all so much for reading, and remember, comments and fair criticism are always appreciated, intriguing readers!


	12. Epilogue

 

 

_1 month later…_

 

“Hey, I thought I’d find you out here.”

Jimmy turns his head to look at Brian, smiling and holding up a glass of lemonade. “It’s the first day to hit above 80 this spring,” Jimmy says. “Join me?”

Brian steps out onto the backyard patio, shutting the screen door. The sun is shining beautifully overhead, nary a cloud in the sky, and there’s a pleasantly light breeze rustling the newly-sprouted leaves on the trees. The planters hanging off of the backyard fence are starting to show signs of life, small flower shoots poking up through the dirt. Jimmy is seated on the porch swing, watching Will Graham’s dogs sprint laps around one another, yipping and rolling on the grass.

“They’re going to destroy all the foliage back here,” Brian says wistfully, taking a seat next to Jimmy. “I’m adding a lawn care charge to the dog food bill and carpet cleaning bill that Will needs to pay when he gets back.”

“No, you’re not,” Jimmy says, yawning. He puts his glass down on the table beside the porch swing and leans against Brian, pulling his feet up onto the swing. “You won’t charge him one red cent.”

“You just watch me,” Brian says, looping an arm over Jimmy’s shoulders.

“When is the last time he texted you, anyway?”

“Two days ago. Said he’s in Palermo now, snooping around. I told him he’d better bring us back some souvenirs - besides Lecter of course.” He winks at Jimmy, a cheeky smile on his face.

“Alana called me,” Jimmy remarks, resting his head against Brian’s shoulder. “She’s willing to watch the dogs for a while if we need it. We could do an every-other-month sort of thing.”

“Will will be glad to hear that,” Brian replies. “It means he won’t have to keep making up excuses for why he’s constantly texting her.

Jimmy snickers, closing his eyes. “You got us lunch from the deli while you were out, right?”

“Bagels and cream cheese and lox, all inside,” Brian says. “Ready whenever you want them.”

“Hmm… let’s stay out here for a few more minutes,” Jimmy says. “Too nice of a day to waste it.”

Underneath the calm demeanor Brian is attempting to put on, he can feel his heart beating with a nervous rapidity, and he takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. He presses his hand against his pocket, checking for the hundredth time that the objects inside are still there. The deli run was mostly an excuse to go pick them up. Now he needs to build up the courage to show them to Jimmy.

 _This could be a terrible idea,_ Brian thinks, slipping his fingers into his pocket. _I have a lot of those. Hopefully this one’s a winner._

“Hey, Jim?” Brian says. Jimmy opens his eyes and looks up at Brian. “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay - Good talk or bad talk?” Jimmy asks, sitting up slowly.

“Good, I hope,” Brian says. He draws his hand back out of his pocket, but keeps his fist closed. “So, I didn’t just go to the deli while I was out. I had another errand to run.”

“It did seem like you were taking a while,” Jimmy says. “Where’d you go?”

“I needed to go sell something,” Brian says. “Something that I’ve been keeping for selfish reasons, that it was time to let go of.”

Jimmy frowns. “I didn’t notice anything missing from your house…”

“Do you remember the necklace I bought for Bev?” Brian asks. Jimmy’s eyes flash with recognition, and he instantly nods. “The box was covered in blood, but the necklace itself was in perfect condition. I took it to the same jeweler I’d bought it from. I told him why I was returning it, and I think the guy felt bad, because he gave me most of my money back.”

“But you said… you said you wanted to keep it to remind you of her,” Jimmy says. “I wasn’t going to press you on it.”

“I know.” Brian smiles, reaching his free hand out to cup one of Jimmy’s. “You’re great like that. But I don’t need a necklace to remind me of her. Not anymore. There are a thousand other memories that keep her alive and do a better job at it, too. It’s not fair to you, I think, if I keep something I only bought because I _thought_ I was in love with her.”

“Well… thank you,” Jimmy says, squeezing his hand. “That does make me feel better.”

“There’s more,” Brian says, biting his lip, forcing past his fears to go on. “I picked some things up for us while I was there.”

Jimmy stares at him, the gears in his head turning. “Brian… what did you buy?”

“Just…” Brian holds out his fist, opening his palm flat. “I felt like a good way to use that money was to get something to prove I’m serious about being yours.”

There are two silver rings laying on his palm. Each one is made of two bands on the outside and a twisted spiral ladder on the inside: DNA strands. One is a little larger than the other, but other than that, they’re identical.

“This…” Jimmy covers his mouth, swallowing, eyes wide and shining. He looks like he doesn’t know what to say, but finally he sputters out, “So are- are you asking me to...?”

“I’m not asking you for anything you’re not ready to give me,” Brian says. “We get to decide together what this means. But… if you want it to mean that, it can. I’m ready to give you whatever you want, Jim.”

Jimmy nods, sniffing and wiping his eyes. “Jesus... “ he says, reaching out. He plucks the larger band off of Brian’s palm, and takes Brian’s left hand, sliding the ring onto his finger. “I want you,” Jimmy says. “If you want to make it legal, we can, but I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me that you’re mine. This works just as well.”

Brian takes Jimmy’s left hand between both of his and lifts it up, kissing Jimmy’s knuckles. “Let’s get the paper anyway, just for the security of it.”

Jimmy laughs as Brian slips the band onto his finger. “Okay,” he says, leaning over, kissing Brian hard on the mouth, fingers curling into Brian’s collar. “Okay.”

They leave the dogs outside to enjoy the weather. Jimmy pins Brian to the wall just inside the door, nearly kissing the life out of him, hands roaming across the planes of his chest. Brian moans and wraps his arms around Jimmy’s waist, hoisting him up and walking backwards towards the bedroom, still kissing, navigating the hallway by memory alone. Brian can feel Jimmy’s silver band grazing against his body wherever Jimmy touches him. He’s thumbing the band on his own finger, a foreign sensation he looks forward to getting used to.

His back hits the door of the bedroom, and Jimmy reaches down to open the knob, allowing them entrance. Brian flops backward onto the bed, and Jimmy straddles his hips, smiling down at him, stroking his cheek for a moment.

“I should probably sell my place, huh?” Jimmy asks, leaning down to kiss him gently. “Not like I’m there much anymore anyways…”

“We can buy a new one if you’d like,” Brian mumbles, pressing up into his touch. “Make it our own.”

“I like it here,” Jimmy says, trailing kisses down to Brian’s neck. “Lots of good memories made here… First time I kissed you, first time we made love…” He nips at the base of Brian’s throat, and Brian gasps, arching upwards.

“You’ve made your point,” Brian says, reaching up to unbutton Jimmy’s shirt. “Let’s make some more memories then, okay?”

And so they did.

 

 

 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote! I want to once again thank my awesome beta, [JPLabGuru](https://twitter.com/JPLabGuru), for taking 45,000 words of my nonsensical ramblings and helping me shape it into something pretty good. You're an awesome friend and the best beta a girl could ask for.
> 
> I also want to thank all of my fellow Preller shippers on both Tumblr and Twitter alike. You make this fandom and this pairing a delight, and I wouldn't have had the motivation to write this if I didn't know there were people who would love to read it.
> 
> And finally, thank you to any readers, whether you ship Preller, or not, or maybe even started after reading this, for sticking with me through this story. A lot of the things I've written here will likely be Jossed in about... oh, 12 hours or so, but I hope this entertained you and future readers enough to read it anyway! Thank you also to everyone who left lovely comments and kudos on this work.
> 
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://nighthawkms.tumblr.com) to chat, squee, or read more of my Hannibal fics that haven't been posted to AO3. I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nighthawkms), where more squee and inane tweets about my life happen. I'm going to try to livetweet the premiere, here's hoping!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try to post one chapter per day, but it will all be out before June 4th. Come back tomorrow for the next part!


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